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PANTOMIMES; 



OR 



^Wordless "Poems. 



By MARY TUCKER MAGILL, 

Author of "Women, or Chronicles of the War," "History of Virginia," "The 
Holcombes," etc. 



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EDGAR S. WERNER, 

108 East 16th Street, New York, 

1895. 






Copyright, 1882, 1894, 
BY MARY TUCKER MA.GILL. 



PRESS OF EDGAR S. WERNER, 108 EAST 16TH STREET, NEW YORK. 



AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 



THESE exercises have been used by their author 
with great effect, both in classes of elocution 
and calisthenics, but have an especial adaptation to the 
former. They are now given to the public at the re- 
quest of teachers who have seen and heard of them, and 
feel that they meet a want of which every teacher of 
the art is conscious, — being a revelation, in beautiful 
and simple fashion, of the special use of the facial and 
flexor muscles in elocution: By clearly defining this use, 
they tend to curb the tendency to exaggeration and af- 
fectation, so common in elocution, which brings so much 
discredit on the study, and is absolute destruction to art, 
which is only true in proportion to its brotherhood to 
nature. 

The music, by Fuenkenstein, has been composed 
especially for the exercises, and is so arranged as to 
develoj) and assist the expression. 

The author's thanks are due to Miss Bertha M. Wil- 
son for her posings in the pantomimic exercises, and to 
Miss Myra Pollard and Mr. Goodwal Dickerman for 
their work in the ballad pantomimes. 

MARY TUCKER MAGILL. 



Miss Magill has struck a happy vein in physical culture. 

The real object in body training is a more perfect marriage 
of the soul and body. The difference between the awkward move- 
ment and stolid faces of many persons of even pronounced intelli- 
gence, and the graceful movements and speaking countenance of 
the stage artist, illustrates the contrast between mere contiguity 
and unity. 

The discord jetween soul and body, as shown in the face, is 
often very striking, The conversation may be bright, while the 
face is a blank. This provoking and painful immobility of the 
face may be removed by a course of special training. Miss Ma- 
gill has thoroughly grasped the difficulty and its removal. The 
illustrations show how comprehensively and finely she touches 
the emotional gamut. 

I commend this course of facial training. It must be very 
fascinating, and will add indefinitely to the pleasure and sparkle 
of our social life. 

Very respectfully, 

DIO LEWIS. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE, 

Preface 5 

Pantomimic Exercises 7 

Expectation 18 

Affection 21 

Anger or Hatred 23 

Sorrow 25 

Joy 27 

Fear 28 

Religious Devotion 31 

The Farewell , 32 

Music to the Exercises 75 

Preface to Part II 89 

Elocution 90 

Pantomimes . . , 94 

Seven Times One 94 

Queen Katharine's Vision 100 

Ginevra 103 

" Where Are You Going, My Pretty Maid ?" 110 

Seven Times Three 126 

Goldenhair and the Bears . 129 

Scene from " The Winter's Tale " 134 

Rory O'More 138 

Recitations 157 

Sis. Mary Tucker Magill 157 

Borrowers 168 

Aunt Anarky's Presents . 171 

Smith's Boy. Max Adeler 175 

Cabin Philosophy. Irwin Russell 179 



CONTENTS. 

The Baker's Wife 182 

A May-Day Flitting. Mary Tucker Magill 186 

Kasser banker. Mary Tucker Magill 200 

Elopement in Seventy-Five 204 

The Wonderful Economy of a Wife 211 

Fairy Hill. Col. St. George Tucker 213 

Aunt Merrandy. Mary Tucker Magill 220 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 



PAGE. 

1. Expectation , 35 

2. Listening 37 

3. Looking 39 

4. He Comes 41 

5. Affection 43 

6. The Vow 45 

7. Anger 47 

8. Sorrow 49 to 53 

9. Joy 55, 57 

10. Fear .. 59 to 65 

11. Religious Devotion 67, 69 

12. Parting 71, 73 

13. Seven Times One 95, 97, 99 

14. "Where Are You Going, My Pretty Maid ?" ... 113 to 125 

15. Rory O'More ;. 145 to 155 



PANTOMIMES; 

OR 

WORDLESS POEMS. 



THERE is nothing so essential to the attractiveness 
and beauty of an individual as mobility of expres- 
sion and ease and grace of movement ; however beautiful 
the features, if no light is shed upon them from the soul 
within, the face lacks the charm which attracts ; it is 
like the fair flower without odor, — beautiful to the eye, 
but wanting that which alone could make it charming. 

On the other hand, we all can recall faces, with no 
beauty of feature, which attracted and kept us charmed 
by that play of expression which made it the mirror of 
the soul within, — the changeful emotions flitting over 
it like the face of the heavens in spring; one moment 
bright with the sunshine of mirth, the next dewy with 
the white clouds of sympathy, or bursting into the 
brilliant sunset hues of generous enthusiasm. 

The statuesque repose of the marble has its beauty. 

(7) 



8 PANTOMIMES; OR 

The work of the sculptor with his chisel upon the resist- 
ing stone is beautiful only in proportion to his faithful 
delineation of nature, and we gaze in silent awe and 
admiration at his highest achievements. But the kin- 
dling eye, the mobile mouth, the graceful movement of 
the pliant form, is the noblest work of a divine hand, 
an achievement worthy of a god. 

In teaching the science of elocution, I have always 
been met on the threshold by the difficulty of making 
the pupil comprehend the fact that his entire being — 
body, soul, and spirit — must assist in the work. The 
voice, though so often in error, is the most manageable 
element ; any attempt at movement of the body being 
stiff and awkward from embarrassment, while the face 
remains still and unresponsive. In striving to overcome 
this difficulty, I was led into a deeper study of the 
whole subject, and was amazed to find the broad field 
opened before me, the wonderful power of the human 
frame for purposes of expression without the aid of 
language ; and the result is these simple exercises, in- 
tended to give ease to those muscles which we use in 
elocution, to open up to the student the idea of their 
importance in every branch of the study, from conver- 
sation, — its foundation-stone, — through reading and rec- 
itation, up to the highest oratory. 

Before leaving this subject, which we will style the 
Roscius side of the elocution question, I think it will 



WORDLESS POEMS. 9 

be well to warn the pupils, probably repeating what I 
have said before, that these exercises are physical, 
intended to give ease and elasticity to the muscles of the 
whole body, so that with an intelligent person the 
expression will change with the thought. 

Gesture should be the inspiration of the moment, like 
speech ; and while it is well to study gesture, yet it is 
very undesirable that one should use a studied gesture. 
Once understand it, and, like language, the. proper 
gesture will naturally accompany speech. 

Let me give an illustration. I went once to a school 
exhibition where the pupils in elocution had been dili- 
gently trained for appearance in public. I think there 
may have been as many as twenty upon the stage, and 
it became ludicrous in the extreme to follow the result 
of this training. Each one in turn would advance three 
steps, begin her piece, and fall back three steps ; next 
would follow two steps to the right, then to the left, 
and so well were they trained that not one omitted the 
monotonous routine. My idea is different. Teach the 
reason and the sense of the thing, then let the result 
follow naturally. If your muscles be correctly trained, 
you will avoid stiffness and awkwardness, which are so 
apt to be the tormenting experience of young elocu- 
tionists. 

By way of assisting the pupil to the full understand- 
ing of gesture, I will lay down just a simple manual, 



10 PANTOMIMES; OR 

which may be found in other books but should not be 
omitted from any. 

However much the opinions of the world at large 
may be at variance upon the subject of physiognomy, 
all agree in conceding to it great weight in science. In 
all of the ages of the world, writers have contributed to 
the subject. Beginning with the Bible, we hear Solo- 
mon say : 

"A naughty person walketh with a fro ward mouth. He 
winketh with his eyes, he speaketh with his teet, he teacheth 
with his fingers." 

"A violent man shutteth his eyes to devise fro ward things ; 
moving his lips he bringeth evil to pass." 

' 'A high look and a proud heart and the ploughing of the 
wicked is sin." 

"There is a generation, O how lofty are their eyes, and their 
eyelids are lifted up." 

"A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance." 

"Heaviness in the heart of a man maketh it stoop." 

In the Apocryphal writings, we read : 

"The heart of a man changeth his countenance, whether it be 
for good or evil. " 

"There is a wicked man that hangeth down his head, and 
calleth down his countenance, and maketh as though he heareth 
not." 

' 'A man's attire and excessive laughter and quiet, show what 
he is. " 

One of the world's greatest students of this subject — 
Cicero — says : 

"Nature hath bestowed upon man a bodily figure completely 
adapted to his mind. The face of every other animal he hath 



WORDLESS POEMS. 11 

turned downwards to the ground, from whence its nourishment 
is drawn ; to man alone is given a form erect, a face turned up- 
ward to his kindred heaven, to those divine abodes which are his 
native seat. She has, besides, so exquisitely modelled the human 
features that they are capable of expressing the most secret 
emotions of the soul. The penetrating glances of the eye indicate 
the corresponding internal affections ; and that which is emphat- 
ically called the countenance announces the moral character." 

Herder, a writer on physiognomy, thus analyzes the 

face : 

"The forehead is the seat of serenity, of joy, of gloomy dis- 
content, of anguish, stupidity, ignorance, and malignity ; it is the 
table of brass upon which are engraved the thoughts in letters 
of fire. 

"Below the forehead is the eyebrow, that beautiful frontier: in 
its mildness, the rainbow of peace ; in rage, the bended bow of 
discord. 

"The eyes form the windows of the soul, transparent globes, 
the sources of light and life ; they sparkle in joy, glow in anger, 
gleam softly in sympathy, droop in sorrow. 

' ' The nose gives a finish to all the features of the face. The 
root of the nose, its ridge, its point, its cartilage, its nostrils, all 
express understanding and character. 

' ' The mouth characterizes the taste and propensity ; is curled to 
express contempt, compressed in anger, smiling in affection and 
the softer emotions, laughing in joy and triumph, drooped in 
sorrow, thrown violently open in terror. 

"Nature has placed the ear at the side of the head, half con- 
cealed: with less of beauty and grace than distinguishes the 
other features, with no power in itself of transmitting expres- 
sion ; from which we learn that man hears for himself alone, and 
not to convey to others a sign. 

"The head, supported upon the neck, discovers, by a motion, 
what man wishes to express : firmness, pride, dignity, sorrow, or 
shame. " 



12 PANTOMIMES; OR 

We may add to this beautiful analysis, that the limbs 
in their every muscular action are as full of expression 
as the features of the face. Who so simple as not to be 
able to form some judgment of the vital force and char- 
acter of a man, even his age, by his step ? The child 
bounds along the pathway of life, his step yet un- 
touched by disappointment and failure; the untried 
world before him, he believes himself unconquerable. 
The youth is but a modification of the child : a little 
more of thought, of feeling, in his movement; but 
although life has, even now, had some failures for him, 
he believes them all behind him ; the mountain height 
above him, he moves to conquer its stoeps, with buoyant 
step, his banner, "Excelsior!" in his hand. Stern 
middle age moves with sober step, back a little bowed, 
limbs strengthened by toil, the buoyancy and confidence 
of youth replaced by the firmness and determination of 
character developed by experience ; his every movement 
shows that he knows he can be conquered, that success 
means work, and he braces himself for the hand-to-hand 
conflict. Then follows old age, with step feeble and 
broken, falling towards the grave, man's last resting- 
place. 

Lavater, the most enthusiastic and voluminous author 
on this subject, has left to literature five folio volumes, 
in which the subject is given with the greatest interest 
and power. He claimed the ability to tell a man's 



WORDLESS POEMS. 13 

character at a glance, and even to divine his thoughts, 
by placing himself in his situation. Although we must 
stop short of Lavater in his convictions, yet there is so 
much of wisdom, beauty, and truth in his words, that 
we must adopt them into our text. He defined physiog- 
nomy as "man's interior manifested by his exterior, 
whether feature, outline, or position give the sign ; it is 
what a man is in general. Pathognomy is the human 
form in action ; the interpretation of the passions shown 
by the movement of its parts ; what the man is at the 
present moment. ' ' 

Man's physiognomy forms the difference between 
himself and the brute, — no form so noble, so sublime, 
as his, containing so many faculties, so many powers of 
action ; his eye darts lightning in anger, and melts into 
softness in love ; his foot, by its very stroke upon the 
ground, displays some element of his true character; 
the head rears itself in pride and joy, and bends in 
humility and sorrow. In short, the whole visible man 
is the servant of the invisible mind, which moves and 
controls him at will. Any disobedience to this universal 
law is affectation, — a mask which a man puts on to con- 
ceal his real self. 

The science of elocution has for its true object the 
analysis of this subject, — the true and beautiful in 
nature. The study has been brought into great disrepute 
and ridicule by false teaching, — the stilted style, — 



14 PANTOMIMES; OR 

where the feeble grasp strives to arrest the whirlwind, 
or with a feather stop the torrent ; to ontbellow the 
thunder with a baby wail, or outflash the lightning 
with a brimstone match. 

I aver that there is not so much nonsense and false- 
hood taught on any subject as elocution ; the whole 
matter is generally misunderstood. The science has for 
its object and end not so much building up as tearing 
down. From our infancy we are the victims of habit, 
or second nature, which eats into the true nature like a 
canker, undermining and tearing away the beautv im- 
planted in our being, and putting in its place the 
wretched substitute which forms the mask Ave wear to 
conceal what we are. 

Now, elocution should aim to tear away this mask by 
gradual and thorough work, taking us back to the beau- 
tiful mother Nature, who, in her pure fountain, washes 
us clean from the defilement of habit, and makes us 
simple and tender as £s ature herself. ' ' Put yourself in 
his place ' ' is the best motto for an elocutionist. 

" The only study of mankind is man;" and, such is 
the unity of our nature, that when we find out what 
would be our true feeling in any given situation, and 
display that feeling with perfect naturalness, we touch 
a chord which will make the whole human race vibrate. 

I have often observed that it is the most feeble and 
incapable pupil who is most ambitious to undertake the 



WORDLESS POEMS. 15 

greatest flights. I recall one such, a stage-struck youth, 
who, presenting himself for lessons, said: " I have a 
passion for high tragedy ! " I advised him to get rid of 
the dangerous guest, and be content to begin on the 
lowest round of the ladder instead of the highest, or he 
would get a dangerous fall. Like many another self- 
sufficient youth, he did not listen to my friendly admo- 
nitions, and the fall came in due time. All know the 
story of the great Cicero and his teacher Roscius, the 
actor ; that it was a long discussion with them which 
could best express feeling, — voice or action. In these 
exercises we take the side of Roscius, and see what we 
can do with our subject without the aid of the vocal 
organs. My object in this, as I have before hinted, is 
by excluding this palpable medium, and throwing upon 
the face and body the entire weight of expression, to give 
to the world of students an idea of the power of repre- 
sentation which lies in their frames, to show them that, 
however important the voice and memory may be, facial 
expression and movement must be studied in order to 
make a perfect whole, — the whole being must respond 
in order to make the*elocutionary effort a success. 

The subjects chosen for these exercises are of the 
simplest, such as enter into our everyday life. There 
are eight changes : I. Expectation or Listening and 
Looking; II. Affection; III, Anger or Hatred; IV. 



16 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Sorrow ; V. Joy ; VI. Fear ; VII. Keligious Devotion ; 
VIII. The Farewell. 

They are so arranged as to bring in strong contrasts. 
Love and hatred follow each other, ' ' Sorrow endnreth 
for a night, joy cometh in the morning," — the anguish 
of "terror" is followed by petition and resignation. 
The object to be gained in these contrasts is to promote 
the mobility of the face, to make the facial muscles obey 
instantly the will of the master — mind. The music is 
chosen to suit the sentiment to be expressed : Soft and 
earnest in expectation and affection, stormy in hatred 
and fear, plaintive in sorrow, brilliant in joy, and sooth- 
ing in devotion. 

The exercises were arranged to meet the wants of a 
class of my pupils, and have excited so much attention 
by their beauty of sentiment and simple, unexaggerated 
expression, that I have been frequently solicited to pub- 
lish them. It has been a difficult task to do so; and 
even now there are wants to be met, with which a living 
teacher must cope. Anyone who has given thought to 
the subject will at once catch inspiration from the 
thought, in the whole. I present them to the public 
with the hope that they may strike to the heart of a vein 
of pure ore, and serve to develop that taste and beauty 
of which few of God's creatures are entirely destitute. 
The music is in common time, and the movements made 
to eight beats. The diagram following takes in the direc- 



WORDLESS POEMS. 



17 



tion of the movements. The pupil occupies the centre 
mark, a, and steps to points marked b, c, d, e, f, g, 




according to directions. The movements should be very 
decided, the facial expression corresponding perfectly. 

Keep this idea prominently in mind. There must be 
a perfect correspondence between the sentiment to be 
expressed, the facial expression, and the movements of 
the body. In the softer emotions, where the sentiment 
is tender, as in affection, sorrow etc. , the face must be 
in unison, and the movements gentle and relaxed; in 
anger and fear the muscle must be tense, the face dis- 
torted, and the eyes flashing, the muscles of the face and 
body assuming rigidity exactly in proportion to the 
strength of the passion to be expressed. 

The best way to ensure a perfectly natural degree of 
expression is for pupils to repeat in their minds the 
words I have chosen to illustrate the sentiment, and ex- 
press it in the pantomime. 

Study nature; let it neither be " overdone, nor come 
too tardy after, ' ' as Hamlet says. Try effects upon 
yourself ; see how much expression there is in the ten- 



18 PANTOMIMES; OR 

sion of the muscles. Shut your list ; hold it loosely, it 
expresses nothing ; clench it until it shakes in the effort, 
and it expresses the strongest passion ; and you will find, 
in producing a tension of those muscles, involuntarily 
your teeth gnash, and your face expresses the strongest 
anger. There is a most absolute accord in nature ; habit 
makes the discord. "God made man upright, but he 
has sought out many inventions." 



EXPECTATION; 
OR LISTENING AND LOOKING. 

I have taken, to illustrate this idea, ' l Seven Times 
Three," from Jean Ingelow's " Songs of Seven." A 
young girl is expecting her lover ; listening intently, 
she even wants the birds to cease their singing : 

"Hush! nightingale, hush! oh, sweet nightingale, wait. 
Till I listen aud hear 
If a step draweth near, 
For my love he is late. 

"The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, — 
A cluster of stars hangs like fruit on the tree, 

The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer ; 
To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see ? 
Let the star clusters glow, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 19 

Let the sweet waters flow, 
And cross quickly to me. 

"You night-moths that hover where honey brims over 

From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ; 
You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover 
To him who comes darkling along the rough steep. 
Ah, my sailor, make haste, 
For the time runs to waste, 
And my love lieth deep, — 

"Too deep for swift telling, and yet, my one lover, 

I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night ; 

By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover, 

Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight. 

But I'll love him more, more 

Than e'er wife loved before, 

Be the days dark or bright. " 

This pantomime is illustrated so fully as to require 
only a brief explanation : 

First. The raised finger enjoining silence ; the wide 
open eyes and intent face ; the ear turned toward posi- 
tion d, as that whence the expected footstep is to come. 

Second. Same expression, hand over ear to concen- 
trate the sound. 

Third. " You glow-worms, shine out, and the path- 
way discover to him," etc. She stands, with hand over 
eyes, gazing earnestly down the pathway. 

Fourth. Her earnestness is rewarded, — she sees him 
coming ; who can doubt it ? 

There are twelve strains of eight beats in this move- 
ment : 



20 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Listening. 

First Strain. — 1. Step toward d, holding up index 
linger behind your head in direction of e. 2. Back to a. 
3. Repeat movement. 4. Step back to a. 5. Step to d, 
hands on hips, ear inclined towards point from which 
sound is expected, brow contracted to express earnest- 
ness; hold through remainder of strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. 
(Illust. I. 1.) 

Second Strain. — 1. Without changing position of 
body generally, place right hand over ear, and deepen 
listening expression; hold through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 
beats; on 8 return to a. (Illust. I. 2.) 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side, 

Looking. 

Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to d, finger raised enjoining 
silence, as in Illust. I. 1. 2. Back to a. 3. Repeat move- 
ment. 4. Back to a. 5. Step to d, looking intently 
toward the direction from whence the person is expected ; 
hands on hips, body bent forward, brow contracted to 
express eagerness; hold position through strain, 5, 6, 7, 
8 beats. 

Sixth Strain. — 1. Without moving position of feet, 
throw the body back, straightening right limb, taking 
position of Illust. I. 3; hold through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 
7 beats ; on 8 return to a. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 21 

He Comes. 

Ninth Strain. — 1. Step to d, finger raised enjoining 
silence. 2. Back to a. 3. Step to d, and take listening 
position (see Illust. I. 2). 4. Back to a. 5. Step to d, 
taking looking position (see Illnst. I. 3) ; hold through 
strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. 

Tenth Strain. — 1. Throw body forward, finger 
pointed in direction of path, face radiant, every feature 
expressing fulfilment of hope (see Illust. I. 4) ; hold 
through strain, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. 

Eleventh and Twelfth Strains. — Kepeat exercise on 
left side. 

Tell the whole story by expression and movement as 
plainly as if you recited the poem. 



AFFECTION. 



The poem which illustrates Affection is that exquisite 
one of Miss Muloch's : 

"Could you come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, 

In the old likeness that I knew, 
I would he so faithful and loving, Douglas 

Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. 

" Never a scornful word should pain you, 
I'd smile as sweet as angels do ; 



22 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, 
Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. 

' ' Oh ! to call back the days that are not, 
Mine eyes were blinded, your words were few; 

Do you know the truth now up in heaven, 
Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. 

"I was not half worthy of you, Douglas, 

Not half worthy the like of you ; 
Now all men besides are to me like shadows, 

Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true. 

"Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas! 

Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew, 
As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, 

Douglas! Douglas! tender and true. " 

I quote it entire, because I wish the whole sentiment 
embodied in the expression and movement of this panto- 
mime. The longing, regretful love in the raised eves, 
the outstretched hands, with enough tension of the 
muscles to give ardor and language to the position. The 
movement must be slow and soft, in unison with the 
music, which expresses the sentiment exquisitely. 

There are eight strains of eight beats in the exercise : 

First Strain. — 1. Step to b, placing left hand over 
heart, extending right in direction of movement. 2. 
Back to a, placing right hand on left over the heart. 
3. Step to c, repeating former gesture. 4. Back to a. 
5. Step to d, both hands outstretched (see Illust. II. 1) ; 
let the face be earnest and the muscles of the body a 
little tense, not rigid; hold through strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 
beats. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 23 

Second Strain. — 1. "Without moving the feet, throw 
the body back, straightening right limb and bending left, 
and cross arms over bosom (see Illust. II. 2) ; hold 
through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat movement on 
left side. 

Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to b, both hands outstretched 
(see Illust. II. 1). 2. Back to a, hands crossed on bosom 
(see Illust. II. 2). 3. Eepeat movement, 4. Back to a. 
5. Step to d, body thrown forward, right knee very 
much bent, hands crossed over bosom ; hold through 
strain, 5, 6, 7, 8 beats. 

Sixth Strain. — 1. Without moving position of body 
generally, stretch out both hands, and hold the position 
through 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 

Take in the full spirit of the poem, and study faith- 
fulness in its illustration. 



ANGER OR HATRED. 



The music here breaks into a stormy measure, to illus- 
trate the hateful passion of anger. I have been greatly 
at a loss for a text to express it, as women do not, hap- 



24 PANTOMIMES; OR 

pily, often make such violent demonstration of the pas- 
sion. I have chosen the scene from Shakespeare, where 
the messenger announces to Cleopatra the marriage of 
Antony and Octavia : 

"Hence, 
Horrible villain ! or I'll spurn thine eyes 
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy head." 

Eyes flashing, lips compressed, face distorted, fists 
clenched ; thus nature marks and disfigures the ' ' form 
divine. ' ' 

The contrast to the soft, tender expression of regret- 
ful love which precedes this exercise is a strong one, and 
makes it a good exercise. The time must be decidedly 
marked by the stamped foot and shaken fist. 

There are eight strains of music of eight beats in this 
exercise : 

First Strain. — 1. Stamp the foot and shake the right 
fist once on b line. 2. Back to a. 3. Stamp foot and 
shake the fist once on c line. 4. Back to a. 5. Same 
movement on d line. 6. Back to a. 7. Same move- 
ment on d line. 8. Back to a. 

Second Strain. — 1. Take position as indicated by 
Illust. III., and hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 
return to a. 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 

Fifth Strain. — 1 and 2. Stamp foot once on b line, 
and shake fist twice. 3. Return to a. 4 and 5. Repeat 



WORDLESS POEMS. 25 

movement on c line. 6. Keturn to a. 7. Stamp foot 
and shake list once on d line. 8. Keturn to a. 

Sixth Strain. — 1 . Take position as indicated in Illust. 
III., and hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Kepeat exercise on left 
side. 



SORROW. 



Here the music breaks into a plaintive wail, as an in- 
troduction to the next exercise — Sorrow. The poem 
chosen as a keynote to expression is ' ' Widowhood, ' ' 
from Jean Ingelow's " Songs of Seven :" 

"I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan 

Before I am well awake, 
' Let me bleed ; oh, let me alone, 

Since I must not break ! ' 

"I shall not die, but live forlorn; 

How bitter it is to part ; 
Oh, to meet thee, my love, once more ! 

Oh, my heart ! my heart ! 

' ' No more to hear, no more to see ! 

Oh, that an echo might wake 
And waft one note of thy psalm to me, 

Ere my heartstrings break! 

"Or once between the gates of gold, 
While an angel entering trod ; 



26 PANTOMIMES; OR 

But once thee sitting to behold 
On the hills of God!" 

There are eight strains of music of eight beats in this 
exercise : 

First Strain. — 1. Step to b, with head bowed, arms 
at full length, hands clasped as in Illust. IY. 1, whole 
movement indicating deep dejection; hold 1, 2, 3 beats. 
4. Return to a, removing hands from face ; and interla- 
cing fingers, let the hands fall convulsively, arms at full 
length. 5. Step to c, and bow the head on interlaced 
fingers; hold 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

/Second Strain. — 1. Step to d, and take position indi- 
cated in Illust. IY. 1 ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 
8 return to a. 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 

Fifth Strain. — 1. Stej) to b, and take position as in- 
dicated in Illust. IY. 1 ; hold 1, 2, 3 beats; on 4 return 
to a. 5. Step to c, and take position indicated in Illust. 
IY. 2; hold 5, 6, 7 beats; on '8 return to a. 

Sixth Strain. — 1 . Take position as indicated in Illust. 
IY. 3 ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 27 



JOY. 



Joy follows sorrow as light follows darkness. The 
music changes to a light, tripping, dancing measure, and 
is full of animation and life. The poem is an extract 
from Tennyson's ' ' May Queen : ' ' 

" To-morrow '11 be the happiest time 
Of all the glad new year ! 



For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, 
I'm to be Queen of the May." 

The idea is a young girl dancing into her mother's 
presence to announce her joyful news, that she has been 
chosen by her companions as their May Queen. 

There are eight strains of music of eight beats each in 
this exercise : 

First Strain. — 1. Step to b and simultaneously clap 
hands over head. 2. Return to a. 3. Repeat exercise 
at c. 4. Return to a. 5. Step to d and clap hands 
over head thrice on 5, 6, 7 ; on 8 return to a. 

Second Strain. — 1. Take position of Illust. V. 1; 
hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats, and return to a on 8. 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 

Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to b, clap the hands three 
times on 1, 2, 3 beats. 4. Return to a. 5. Repeat 
movement at c, 5, 6, 7 beats. 8. Return to a. 



28 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Sixth Strain. — Take position as indicated in Illust. 
Y. 2 ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 

The expression of the face must be beaming through 
this exercise ; it is nothing without expression. 



FEAR. 



This is the most difficult of the exercises, but it is 
worth the effort necessary to accomplish it well. The 
music is in chords, the movement in convulsive starts, 
and wild tragic positions and expressions. 

The poem chosen is an extract from Byron's well- 
known description of the battle of Waterloo, beginning : 

"There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gathered there 
Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men! 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
Soft eyes looked love to. eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage bell. 
(VI. 1.) But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. 

' ' Did ye not hear it ? No, 'twas but the wind, 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street 



WORDLESS POEMS. 29 

On with the dance, let joy be unconfined. 

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. 

(VI. 2.) But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat, 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before — 

(VI. 3.) Arm! arm! it is the cannon's opening roar. 

(VI. 4.) The foe, he comes! he comes!" 

Let the pupil picture the scene, and represent it ac- 
cording to nature. 

Imagine yourself in the midst of joy and revelry, no 
thought of danger ! In the midst comes the sound ; you 
start convulsively ! It dies away, and you persuade 
yourself it is nothing. Again it comes, louder than be- 
fore. Another start, more convulsive than the last. 
Then comes the dreaded cannon's opening roar; the 
hands are thrown up, and the whole being helps to dis- 
play the terror of the moment ; and as the danger comes 
nearer, and the dreaded foe appears, safety is sought in 
flight. 

The direction of the movements must be from the 
point of danger. For the first exercise let that point be 
e, the start will naturally be to b. 

The music being divided differently, the directions 
will vary a little — eight strains of eight beats each : 

First Strain. — 1 . A chord of music strikes : start 
backward to b, taking the position illustrated in YI. 1 ; 
hold while you count 1, 2 beats, letting muscles gradually 



30 PANTOMIMES; OR 

relax, and an expression of relief take the place of 
startled fear ; slowly return to a on 3, 4 beats. 5. There 
is a crash of music, louder than the last, and you start 
back to b more violently than before (see Illust. VI. 2) ; 
now all is hurried, a succession of chords follow in quick 
succession; 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Second Strain. — 1. Start back to b, with hands 
thrown up and the face distorted with terror (see Illust. 
YI. 3) ; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side — start to e from d. 

Fifth Strain. — 1. Start to b, as in Illust. YI. 2; 
hold 1, 2 beats. 3. Return to a. 4. Start back to b, 
and take position as indicated in Illust. VI. 3 ; hold 4, 
5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Sixth Strain. — Start forward to d, taking position 
indicated in Illust. VI. 4; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 
beats ; on 8 return to a. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 

This exercise furnishes vigorous practice for all the 
muscles of the body. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 31 



RELIGIOUS DEVOTION. 



Petition and Resignation. — Eight strains of eight 
beats each : 

First Strain. — 1. Step to b, hands clasped and eyes 
raised upward; hold 1, 2, 3; on 4 return to a. 5. 
Step to c, head bowed, and hands clasped over breast ; 
hold 5, 6, 7 ; on 8 return to a. 

Second Strain. — Step to d, and take position as indi- 
cated in Illust. VII. 1; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7; on 8 
return to a. 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 

Fifth Strain. — 1. Step to b, head bowed, and hands 
crossed over breast; hold 1, 2, 3; on 4 return to a. 5. 
Step to c, hands clasped and eyes raised to heaven ; hold 
5, 6, 7 beats; on 8 return to a. 

Sixth Strain. — 1. Take position at r>, as indicated in 
Illust. VII. 2; hold 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7; on 8 return 

tO D. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 



PANTOMIMES. 



THE FAREWELL. 



Eight strains of music, eight beats each : 

First Strain. — 1. Step to b, take position of Illust. 
VIII. 1 ; kiss the fingers, throw the hand out to full 
length on 2, as if throwing the kiss to someone far away ; 
repeat this movement on 3, 4 beats, and return to a on 
4. 5. Step to c, wave the hand, palm downward, and 
moving arm from elbow, 5, 6, 7, 8 ; return to a on 8. 

Second Strain — 1. Step to d and kiss the hand, 
throwing kisses four times, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8; on 8 
return to a. 

Third and Fourth Strains. — Repeat exercises on left 
side. 

Fifth Strain. — Wave hand at b twice, 1, 2, 3, 4; on 
4 return to a. 5. Kiss hand at c twice, 5, 6, 7, 8 ; on 
8 return to a. 

Sixth Strain. — Take position as indicated in Illust. 
VIII. 2, waving the handkerchief, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 ; 
on 8 return to a. 

Seventh and Eighth Strains. — Repeat exercise on left 
side. 



I. 2. LISTENING. 

Till I listen and hear 
If a step draweth near, 
F<>r my love he Is late. 



I. 3. LOOKING. 



You gloiv-worms, shine out, and the pathway discover 
To him who comes darkling along the rough steep." 



1.4. HE COMES! 
He comes, my young love- 



II. 2. THE VOW. 



I would be so faithful and loving, Douglas, 
Douglas! Douglas! trader and true." 



III. ANGER. 



' ' Hence, 
'Horrible villain ! or Til spurn thine eyes 
Like balls before me; I'll unhair thy headj* 



IV. 1. SORROW. 
Let mt alone, let me le, 



IV. 2. SORROW. 

But once thee sitting to behold, 
On the hills of God" 



IV. 3. SORROW. 



Oh, how bitter it is to part / 
OA, my heart! my heart/" 



mm 




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V. 1. JOY. 



1 To-morrow 1 11 be the happiest time 
Of all the glad new year 1" 



> 




V. 2. JOY. 



For I'm to be Queen of the May! 



VI. 1. FEAR. 

— ♦ — 



11 Hush/ hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. 



,- ' " , 




VI. 2. FEAR. 



Hark! that heavy sound breaks once again, 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat.'' 



VI. 3. FEAR. 



'Arm ! arm ! it is the cannon s opening roar ! 




& 



VI. 4. FEAR. 



" The foe, he comes/ he comes/ 



VII. 1. RELIGIOUS DEVOTION. 
Petition. 



Give us this day our daily bread. 



VII. 2. RELIGIOUS DEVOTION. 
Resignation. 

— ♦ — 



Thy will be done. 



VIII. 1. PARTING. 

— ♦ — 
" Parting is such stoeet sorrow." 



VIII. 2. PARTING. 



'That I shall say good-night till it be morrow. 



Introduction. 



EXPECTATION. 75 

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PART II 



(87) 



PREFACE TO PART II. 



TN -preparing a new edition of "Wordless Poems " the 
book enters upon a new era — it is a step from im- 
mature childhood to maturity. 

The author has also the pleasure of presenting to the 
public a set of pantomimes prepared from old poems and 
songs, which are simple and easily learned, and will give 
the pupil an idea of the power of gesture in exjjression. 
They will make a beautiful addition to any entertainment, 
and cannot fail both to instruct and to amuse. 

As a further supplement, she has also chosen from her 
own repertory a number of recitations which do not ap- 
pear in print elsewhere; indeed, some of them are from 
her own pen. Hoping that the new u Wordless Poems " 
may be welcome in the place of the old and grow in 
popularity in its new form, I subscribe myself, with 
earnest good wishes, 

Your friend, 

The Author. 
(89) 



ELOCUTION. 

THE subject of elocution is one that lias been so 
voluminously treated and from so many stand- 
points, that there is really very little original left to be 
said. For myself, I hazard the opinion that I think it 
a mistake to confine elocution to dramatic performances. 
A large proportion of young people have some dramatic 
talent, not always of a superior order, and I think it a 
great pity that teachers of elocution do not cultivate their 
pupils more for domestic life and less for the stage. It 
requires really more intelligence to read a column from a 
newspaper agreeably than to make a dramatic recita- 
tion. The cultivation of the voice, the clearness of 
articulation and delicate modulation are all indispensa- 
ble, and too much stress cannot be laid upon their devel- 
opment. It too often happens that a young person who 
can bring down a burst of applause at a school exhibi- 
tion cannot read intelligently a book or a paper for the 
amusement of the home circle. The largest field for 
elocution and the most important is in conversation; 
and the same cultivation which will make the articulation 
clear, the modulation easy, and the voice sweet and 
flexible, will prepare pupils for a more public exhibit 

(90) 



PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. 91 

tion of their powers. Let tlie student, then, begin at the 
fireside, lay his foundation there, and when he is fitted 
to charm in that field, he is ready to enter the arena as 
an orator. 

I would like to give an illustration or two of false 
elocution, resulting from the mistaken idea, in my opin- 
ion, of keeping young people before the public. I recall 
an engagement I accepted to go to a country school to 
train the children for commencement exercises. The reci- 
tations had been committed to memory, and my duty was 
to teach the children to recite. I found myself strangely 
embarrassed. A sentimental little girl had been given a 
piece of high tragedy of which she was perfectly incapa- 
ble. A solemn little boy, who would have done well as 
a mute at a funeral, was laboring over a selection of the 
most grotesque humor. A merry-andrew of a boy was 
expected to bring tears to the eyes of his audience, and 
so on through the chapter. I labored unremittingly 
with my incongruous elements, but with painful results ; 
and, prudently, I left before the exhibition came off. 

One other illustration. Some years ago I was visiting 
in a southern city, at commencement season, and was 
invited to be present at a rehearsal for a commencement. 
A mother who was introduced to me said : 

"Oh, I am so glad you are here to-day, as my daugh- 
ter is to recite the ' Conquered Banner, ' and I want you 
to promise me to criticise her in the most severe way. 



92 PANTOMIMES; OR 

I'm so anxious for her to be an accomplished elocution- 
ist, and I think that she has rare talent, but of that you 
must judge. ' ' 

I tried to retire from the responsible position, well- 
knowing the risk I incurred in criticising the daughter of 
any mother, but in vain. I was pressed into service, 
and when the beautiful girl, twelve years old, made her 
appearance, I trembled for my reputation. Those who 
have read Father Ryan's " Conquered Banner " know 
how infinitely touching it is to Southern people and how 
utterly incongruous its position in the hands of a little 
girl, who naturally found it impossible to realize the 
situation which she wished to illustrate and which 
would bring tears to the eyes of an older person. 
As a matter of policy, she could not use a Confederate 
flag, as it would have injured the school, and for a 
more cogent reason she could not use the Stars and 
Stripes; so she appeared with a veritable flag of truce 
which she held aloft most impressively as she uttered : 
u Furl that banner " — winding the banner around the 

stick as she spoke — " for 'tis weary, 
Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary; 
Furl it, hide it " — putting it behind her, — " let it rest, 
For there is not a man to wave it," — waving it vio- 
lently — 
" There's not a soul to save it," etc. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 93 

"Furl that banner, it is trailing, "—trailing it upon the 

floor — 
" And around it sounds the wailing of a jDeople in their 

woe, ' ' this in a very sprightly tone. 
The mother turned to me triumphantly at the conclu- 
sion of the piece, and I begged her to send her daughter 
to me for a little talk. She came and I talked sense to 
her ; tried to show her that the flag was out of place, 
in other words, was figurative and stood for the whole 
lost cause ; that it was greatly desirable there should 
be no flag whatever, and especially not a flag of 
truce. The result of my candor was that I was pro- 
nounced perfectly prosaic, and the antics were in full 
force at the commencement. 



Note. — In the study of pantomime students must bear 
in mind the absolute necessity of committing the text to 
memory and repeating it silently while performing the 
action. No one can be a good pantomimist who is not 
a good elocutionist. The one must include the other. 



PANTOMIMES. 



SEVEN" TIMES ONE. 



JEAN INGELOW. 

IT will be best to recite or read the jjoem to the au- 
dience before representing the pantomime. The 
movements are made as simple as possible. The child 
should be impressed with the full significance of everv 
movement, and should be taught to repeat the words to 
herself while making the representation. Children 
catch such ideas very quickly. 
u There's no dew left on daisies and clover," 

Stoop down and with outstretched hand feel the ground in 

spots, shaking head at the same time. 
l ' There's no rain left in heaven;" 

Rise, raise open hand oblique right, at same time looking 

up ; make a little motion of hand to represent rain. 
' w I've said my ' seven times ' over and over," 

Make a little beating motion on chest as a child does in 

learning a lesson ; expression of face earnest and studious. 
Ci Seven times one are seven." 

Hold up seven fingers, then one, then seven. 

tw I am old, so old I can write a letter;" 

Straighten person to fullest height, nodding head with 
proud consciousness of dignity, and a little stroke toward 
audience to impress the fact. Make motion of writing on 
left hand. 

u My birthday lessons are done." 

Put hands together like a book, into which look earnestly, 
then throw both hands out obliquely with, downward stroke 
to represent "are done." 

* (94) 




There's no dew left on daisies and clover.' 



96 PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. 

" The lambs play always — they know no better;" 

Turn to left and point as if to a meadow not far off. Make 
a little, quick motion of hand to represent "play." Turn 
to audience and with an expression of tolerance for the 
ignorance of the lambs draw proudly up as to mark a con- 
trast with her own intelligence. 

" They are only one times one." 

Point to lambs, then turning to audience raise one finger, 
throw hand forward to represent "times, "then raise finger 
again. 

" Oh, moon! in the night I've seen yon sailing," 

Address the moon by looking upward, making a circular 
movement with right hand to represent full moon j then 
slowly move right hand from left to right to represent 
" sailing." 

a Shining so round and low;" 

Repeat circular movement to represent moon, drop hand 
lower and make finishing wave. 

" You were bright, ah, bright, but your light is failing — " 
Lift hand toward moon, fingers outspread like rays of light. 

"You are nothing now but a bow." 

Drop hand. With sad, regretful shake of the head look 
upward, then make the shape of "bow" with forefingers 
of both hands, letting them drop slowly to side. 

" You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven' 
Look upward and shake index finger slowly and reproach- 
fully at moon. 

" That God has hidden your face?" 

Point to the moon, then cover face with both hands, clasp 
hands and look reverently upward. 

" I hope if you have you may be forgiven," 




There's no rain left in heaven.' 



98 PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. 

Clasp hands with face uplifted and hope expressed in it ; 
then cross hands on chest and bow head. 
' ' An(J shine again in your place. ' ' 

Raise face with bright expression, right hand with fingers 
extended like rays ; then with index finger make circular 
motion to represent full moon. 

" Oh, velvet bee! you're a dusty fellow;" 

Stoop as though a bee had lighted near;* shake head 
reprovingly ; 

" You've powdered your legs with gold !" 

Make natural motion for "powdered." 
" Oh, brave marsh-mary buds, rich and yellow," 

Rise a,nd touch yellow flowers. 
u Give me your money to hold!" 

Hold out left hand to flowers and Avith right hand make 

round movement in palm to represent money. 

"And show me your nest with the young ones in it :" 
Turn in another direction and look up as into a tree. Make 
fluttering movement with hand. Make shape of nest by 
putting thumbs and forefingers together, then draw the 
other fingers lightly together below, and look into the nest 
for a second. 

" I will not take them away." 

Shake head with the movement of hand toward nest and 
turn away. 

"I am old, you may trust me, linnet, linnet!" 

Conscious age and responsibility; lay hand on heart for 
trust. 

" I am seven times one to-day !" 

Hold up seven fingers, then one finger. 

*It would be well to hare some plants and flowers conveniently near. 




I am seven times one to-day. 



100 PANTOMIMES; OH 

QUEEN KATHAKINE'S VISION. 



SHAKESPEARE. 



Characters: — Queen Katharine, of England; Griffith, her man- 
servant ; Patience, her maid ; Six Angels. 

QUEEN KATHARINE reclines under a canopy, 
dressed in a loose gown of velvet trimmed with 
ermine. Griffith in loose, short and very full trunks 
trimmed with gold braid, low shoes and buckles and a 
doublet of satin, stands beside her. Patience in 
high cap and dress of the period stands on the other side, 
with tapestry frame on the table beside her. Both are 
looking anxiously at Katharine. 

Griffith comes to Patience and pointing to the Queen 
closes eyes and inclines head to one side. He is saying, 
" She is asleep." Then he extends right hand to 
Patience with a little soft motion enjoining caution, 
holding up index finger for quiet, he is saying : 

" Good wench, let's sit down quiet, for fear we wake 
her. Softly, gentle Patience. ' ' 

They both tiptoe off to their seats, and Patience takes 
up tapestry frame. 

A bright litrht breaks above the Queen's head, and 
coming toward her are six angels, who approach two by 
two, the first two bending over her, waving palms and 
beckoning to her. They separate and retreat backward, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 101 

— right and left — and form behind in a regular group 
and again advance toward the front, while the next two 
advance, repeat the movements, and in turn retire, 
giving place to the last couple, who repeat the move- 
ments of the others. Then all, with light, dancing 
movement and smiling faces, retire from sight, waving 
their hands and beckoning to her, while she smiles in 
her sleep. 

As they disappear and the light fades away, Katharine 
starts up, and first clasping her hands as if in distress, 
extends them in the direction of the vision. She is say- 
ing : 

" Spirits of peace, where are ye? " 

Here she looks around in bewilderment. 

' ' Are ye all gone and left me here in wretchedness 
behind ye? " 

Clasps hands on breast and bows head sobbing. 
Griffith and Patience hasten to her, and Griffith bending 
over her points to Patience and touches his own breast. 
He is saying : 

"Madam, we are all here." 

Katharine shakes head and extends hands vertically 
toward them as if rejecting them. She is saying: 

" It is not you I call for." 

Then looking up with interrogation in her expression, 
she points to the place of the vision. 

" Saw T ye none enter while I slept? " 



102 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Griffith and Patience shake heads. 

"None, Madam." 

Katharine looks in their faces, shakes head incredu- 
lously, then in great excitement raises hands and eyes, 
describes the waving palms, the beckoning hands, encir- 
cles her head as with a garland ; then crosses hands on 
breast and bows head disconsolately. She says : 

"No! Saw ye not even now a blessed troop invite 
me to a banquet? They promised me eternal happiness 
and brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel I am 
unworthy yet to wear. ' ' 

She now sinks heavily down and seems to sleep. 
Griffith and Patience bend over her and point anxiously 
to her, then sink on knees and clasp hands in prayer. 

Curtain. 

The vision can be very easily arranged by withdraw- 
ing a curtain and having blue and white draperies 
behind the Queen to represent clouds. Bright calcium 
lights are used as the angels come in, with soft white 
robes and gauze wings. Diamond powder on hair, face 
and dress adds greatly to the beauty of the scene. The 
angels must, if possible, be represented by small children. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 103 



GINEVRA. 



( 'Jiaraders:— Old Baron; Old Baroness; Bride; Groom; Sister of 
Groom ; Brother of Bride ; Guests ; Children. 

A GREAT deal of choice can be exercised as to the 
number of guests. Of course the larger the 
number the prettier the picture on the stage; but if 
this is not convenient, the number may be reduced to 
very few. Costumes should ,be as picturesque as possible 
and in the old Italian or old English style. 

Scene: — Hall of an old castle. Walls ornamented 
with paintings and tapestries. A big fireplace on the 
right, arch leading to corridor centre ; doors R. and L. 
up. Old-fashioned, massive furniture Window look- 
ing onto grounds. 

Scene I. 

The Return from the Marriage. 

As the curtain rises, the wedding party enters through 
the arch centre, Baron and Baroness first. They seat 
themselves at left, down stage as Guests come in, and 
range themselves right and left to receive Bride and 
Groom. All look expectantly at arch through which 
come the Brother of Bride and Sister of Groom. He 
hands her to a place at right of the arch with great show 
of gallantry. Then Bride and Groom enter at arch 



104 PANTOMIMED; OR 

and Guests all courtesy. Bride and Groom return salu- 
tations, and then go hand in hand and kneel at the feet 
of Baron and Baroness to receive their blessing. Baron 
and Baroness raise Bride and Groom and embrace them* 
Guests come forward with congratulations and break 
into groups talking. Baron gives signal for music and 
they form for a minuet, Bride and Groom in the most 
prominent position. Some of the older Guests seat 
themselves with Baron and Baroness at left and watch 
the dance and talk. 

At conclusion of dance, each man takes a knot of rib- 
bon from his coat and presents it to his partner, who re- 
ceives it with a low courtesy and rising gives a rose in 
return. The men in accepting the rose press a kiss upon 
the donor's hand. They break into groups at back 
talking and laughing, while Bride and Groom come for- 
ward to centre, talking and laughing. He takes her 
hand with much devotion, examining her ring; she 
saucily pulls his ring oft', takes hers oft and compares 
them laughing. He tries her ring on his finder and she 
laughs at him because it is too small, then puts his ring 
on her finger and they both laugh when it falls off. He 
puts ring back on her linger, and with a hasty look at 
Guests to see if he is observed, takes the opportunity to 
kiss her hand. She then touches his ring to her lips 
before giving it back to him, with a sautry little smile. 

Brother and Sister leave Guests, to whom they have 



WORDLESS POEMS 105 

been talking, and come down and join Bride and Gvoom. 
They take a few dancing- steps, point to Guests, then 
take hands of the Bride and Groom as if to draw them 
into another dance. Bride shakes head, steps back, 
drops arms to side, relaxes figure suggesting fatigue. 
Some of the younger Guests come forward around her, 
spread hands, palms supine, and with a slight inclination 
of the head, to ask what she wishes. She stands unde- 
cided for a moment thinking, then her face brightens, 
her figure becomes animated, she claps hands joyfully, 
runs to curtains at arch and conceals herself, then peeps 
out laughing, runs forward looking here and there, as if 
searching for someone, representing by her movements 
the game of ' ' Hide-and-seek. ' ' She next catches two 
girls, including Sister of Groom, draws them down cen- 
tre, touches them on shoulder and points to curtains, 
then beckons to two or three of the men, and as they 
approach she covers eyes with handkerchief, then points 
to men's eyes and shows handkerchief to them, to inti- 
mate that their eyes must be bound while the girls hide. 
All the younger Guests have followed her movements 
with signs of understanding and agreement, while the 
older Guests manifest interest in the proceedings, break- 
ing off conversation to listen. Five or six girls are 
selected by Bride including herself, and they blindfold 
partners each with her own handkerchief, then girls 
tiptoe out in a group by arch looking back to make sure 
the men cannot see them. 



106 PANTOMIMES; OB 

Pause. If possible, at this point all the lights should 
be put out and a tableau appear in the place of the 
window over the arch representing garret with a 
big chest. Ginevra stands by the chest raising the lid a 
little, looking out to audience with finger on lips. This 
tableau can be elaborated or changed, not being necessary 
to the pantomime, but of course adding much to the 
pictorial effect. When the picture fades the stage is 
again lighted ; the men pull off the handkerchiefs and 
scatter through arch and doors in search of the missing 
girls. Some of the Guests go to Baron and Baroness 
and talk with them ; others gather in a group on one 
side of stage and look eagerly at doors. The men come in 
one by one at different doors bringing their partners, 
and their success is rewarded with laughter and applause 
as they appear. After the last couple comes, a slight pause 
follows ; then some of Guests run to arch and look through 
the curtain, come back and laugh, point off stage, 
laugh again. Then the Brother goes out and returns 
with Bridegroom, who looks a little serious; all laugh 
and mock at him. The Baron claps him on shoulder 
and laughingly points to the arch bidding him try again. 
Groom goes out. Music strikes up and the young people 
begin to take their places for a dance, when Bridegroom 
enters hurriedly through arch, pushes his way to centre, 
and stops the dance by gesture of alarm. Then points 
up and to each side, shaking his head at each direction, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 107 

places both hands on breast with head thrown back,, next 
extends both arms with head drooped forward in dis- 
couragement. Guests gather about him and question 
eagerly, while Baron goes to window, comes forward and 
touching Bridegroom on shoulder points through window 
and motions him outside. He goes. Then Baron rings and 
orders servants to search. Baroness comes forward and 
shakes head at the idea ; all the young people go out to 
join in the search. Baron and Baroness and some of 
the older Guests talk together in an anxious way. The 
searchers return in groups of two or three, with alarmed 
faces and gestures of discouragement. Bridegroom returns 
to the room in wild excitement and despair ; Baroness 
bursts into tears and Baron puts arm about her comfort- 
ingly; Groom's Sister hides face on his shoulder; 
Brother takes his hand and curtain falls on a scene of 
confusion and bewilderment. 

Scene II. 
The Mystery Solved 

Garret with big rafters and hemp bags hanging 
from them, such as are seen in country garrets. Some 
pieces of broken furniture and an old chest under rafters 
down R. Door at back. Three or four children come 
through door whispering, laughing, laying fingers on 
lips and pointing back, to convey the impression that 



108 PANTOMIMES; OR 

they have left a part of their number behind. They 
listen, then tiptoeing across stage hide in various places. 
More children are heard coining up stairway. They 
peep in at door, then rush noisily in. Their companions 
in hiding jump out on them, causing a scene of confu- 
sion and laughter. (The number of children must, of 
course, be regulated by the ability to provide them, no 
sjDecial number being required.) A scene of great ani- 
mation ensues. Some children dance, some play games, 
some explore garret; cne boy swings from rafters and 
jumps down on chest and lock falls off. This excites 
curiosity, and they clustei about chest and many hands 
combine to raise lid. They start back with upraised 
hands and staring eyes suggestive of horror. Some cover 
faces with hands; some throw themselves into each 
other's arms and sob ; the little ones hide heads and cling 
to older ones. Two or three run out and immediately re- 
turn supporting Bridegroom, grown very old and feeble. 
He leans upon a cane and totters as he walks. "With 
the greatest agitation he goes to chest, some of the bold- 
est children pressing close behind him. He looks in, 
throws hands up, then covers face, trembling exceed- 
ingly. Gradually his hands fall, and leaning forward, 
with an intent gaze, as if something had caught his eye. 
stoops down and snatches up a knot of ribbon, holds it 
in both hands for an instant, looking at it, and then 
presses it to lips, bending head, his whole frame agitated 



WORDLESS POEMS. 109 

by sobs. Then, stooping forward again, he lifts from 
chest a ring. At sight of it lie seems to lose all strength, 
and gradually sinks down beside chest. He takes a ring 
from his linger and holds it with the other, repeating 
Bride's action in Scene I. The knot of ribbon falls to 
ground, and his head sinks forward, the rings pressed to 
his lips. The children press forward fearfully and much 
bewildered. The smallest one, who is clinging to hand 
of oldest girl, pulls her dress and, pointing to the old 
man, lays cheek on folded hands, asking if he is asleep. 
The big girl kneels down and takes the little one in her 
arms, raises one hand to heaven, looking up, then bows 
head. The others cling to each other, in groups, 
sobbing. 

Curtain. 




110 PANTOMIMES: OR 



"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, MY PRETTY 
MAID ?" 

Characters :— A young man very fashionably dressed, in cos- 
tume of the last century ; a village maiden, peasant's costume, with 
bucket on head held by right hand. If possible, balance bucket 
on head at approach, as it gives a very graceful carriage. 

The two meet suddenly at the crossing of the roads. The young 
man takes off hat and makes a very elaborate bow, with face 
expressive of great admiration, repeating to himself, letting 
expression make the question, 

' ' ' Where are you going, my pretty maid ? ' 

She waves left hand forward to indicate "going," then points 
to bucket. 

" ' I'm going a-milking, sir,' she said." 
He turns to her left, presents arm, touches chest, points to her 
with left hand, then waves left hand to the path before them. 
' ' ' Shall I go with you, my pretty maid ? ' 
She lets bucket down and takes it on arm, steps back coyly and 
courtesies to him, with pleased expression. 

" 'Oh, yes! if you please, kind sir,' she said." 
He drops offered arm and confronts her, puts hat on head with 
a business-like air. Sentiment has had its day ; he must know 
what he is doing. Extends right hand supine : 

" ' What is your father, my pretty maid ? ' 
She puts bucket on ground, draws herself up proudly, and 
points around her to indicate possessions, hand supine. Nods 
head emphatically. 

" ' My father's a farmer, sir,' she said." 
He— pleased expression at the information — steps forward 



WORDLESS POEMS. Ill 

eagerly, takes left hand and makes movement of putting ring on 
finger, tender persuasion in his face. 

" ' Say, shall I marry you, my pretty maid ? ' " 
She does not withdraw hand. Expression soft and yielding, 
rather leaning toward him. 

" ' That's just as you please, kind sir,' she said." 
He, without dropping hand, looks, into her face, as if reflecting. 
Then, with business-like air and interrogation in face, extends 
left hand and makes motion of dropping money into it with 
right. 

" ' What is your fortune, my pretty maid ? ' " 
She, with an expression of coquetry, looks into his eyes, with 
mocking expression, and with both hands makes framework for 
her face as she leans forward laughing, repeats his motion indi- 
cating fortune, then sweeps both hands outward and shakes her 
head. 

' l ' My face is my fortune, sir, ' she said. ' ' 
He turns his back sharply and looks at her over shoulder, 
shaking head emphatically while making the movement of put- 
ting ring on his finger. 

" ' Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid.' " 
She has expression of mortified surprise. Recovers herself 
instantly, and taking dress at both sides, dances backward mock- 
ingly, ending with a sweeping courtesy, and snapping the fingers 
of right hand. Then picking up bucket, she balances it on head 
and walks proudly off, while he stands looking after her with 
admiration and regret. Her movement signifies : 
" ' Nobody asked you, sir,' she said." 

Curtain. 



" "Where are you going, my pretty maid 
"I'm going a-milking, sir," she said. 





<4* y 



"Shall I go with you, my pretty maid ?" 
"Oh, yes, if you please, kind sir," she said. 



; ' What is your father, my pretty maid?" 
"My father's a farmer, sir," she said. 



; 'Say, shall I marry you, my pretty maid?" 
; ' That's just as you please, kind sir," she said. 



■"^■v.v- .:. ■■■: 




" My face is my fortune, sir," she said. 





<£* % 



•'Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid. : 



Nobody asked you, sir," she said. 



128 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Extends right hand out and makes movement of steep, rough 
pathway. 

"Ah, my sailor, make liaste, 

For the time runs to waste, 

And my love lietli deep, — " 

Leans forward, hands stretched forward, every feature full of 
eager longing. Falls back, clasps both hands over heart, and stands 
thus long enough to repeat last two lines. 

" Too deep for swift telling, and jet, my one lover," 

Lets hands fall, with slight shake of head. 

" I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." 

Stands erect, with an arch expression ; shakes index finger of 
right hand, then shyly hangs head. 

tk Through the sycamore passed he, and through the white 

clover, ' ' 

She now sees him passing the sycamore tree. Eagerly she 
points forward to him, her face illuminated with joy. 

" Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took 

flight." 

An expression of amusement comes into her face as she 
remembers that the speech she had conned never found expres- 
sion. She makes a sweep with her right hand to signify all the 
sweet speech, or touches her lips and laughs. 

"But I'll love him more, more 

Than e'er wife loved before, 

Be the days dark or bright." 

Clasps hands over heart for first line ; make circular movement 
with arms at full length, to comprehend all the wives in the 
world, turn face upward, with pointing finger, then let hand 
fall. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 129 



GOLDEKEAIR AND THE BEAKS. 



Characters :— A little girl with golden hair ; three boys, per- 
sonating the hears— one large, one medium, one small. 

SCENE: — Room in a cottage. A window, through 
which trees are seen, at back L. Door, centre. 
Three beds in a row, the smallest in front, the largest 
at back R. A rough table with three bowls, each with a 
spoon in it, between door and beds R.C. back. A kitchen 
dresser with some bits of china over it, and one or two 
bits of simple furniture. The room must be pretty but 
very simply arranged. Muslin curtains at window, 
rack for hats between door and window. Three chairs 
— big, medium, little — around a table down L. Big 
chair R. , medium chair L. , little chair down in front of 
table. 

As curtain rises, Goldenbair peeps in at the window, 
draws back as if frightened, peeps again, then pushes 
door open cautiously and enters. Her dress is dis- 
ordered and dusty, her hat hangs by the ribbons ; she 
walks as if much fatigued, and seems very much 
heated, fans herself with hat. , She stands for a moment 
bewildered, and then her eyes fall on the chairs. Her 
face lights up with an expression of pleasure, and she 
runs to the big chair and drops into it. Comes down 
hard. Jumps up with an expression of utter discomfort 
and rubs herself. Catches sight of medium chair on the 



130 PANTOMIMES; OR 

other side of table, hastens to it, seats herself in it and 
sinks almost out of sight. Jumps up again, pulls hat 
off, tosses it on the table crossly, which brings her a 
step forward, and she sees the little chair. She claps 
her hands and drops into it with a sigh of relief, throws 
head back, stretches out feet and closes eyes, with an 
expression of comfort and satisfaction. 

A slight pause. Then she opens eyes, puts hand 
to mouth, and makes the motion of eating, looking 
around wistfully. Catches sight of table with bowls 
on it. Claps hands, runs to table, and, seizing 
the big bowl, greedily takes a spoonful. It is hot 
and burns her. She dances about for a second, then 
runs to the door and comes back breathing hard, 
as if to cool month, and touching lips with hand. She 
looks longingly at medium bowl, puts out hand, draws 
it back, then takes a spoonful and tastes it with excess- 
ive care. Puts spoon down with shiver and expression 
of disgust. The porridge is cold. She clasps hands in 
despair and leans head on table, repeating the gesture of 
hunger. In raising head she sees the little bowl, takes 
it cjuickly and tastes it ; hugs bowl to her, runs to little 
chair and sits down. Eats rather hurriedly, and when 
she has emptied bowl throws herself back in chair. 
The seat gives way and lets her down. (This can easily 
be arranged by having a canvas seat to the small chair, 
fastening on one side on a peg, and when Goldenhair 



WORDLESS POEMS. 131 

throws herself back in the chair, one hand can easily 
slip the canvas off the peg.) She sits for a moment 
surprised, then jumps up, stamps foot, and pushes chair 
away so that it falls over. Yawns, rubs eyes and 
stretches as if suddenly overcome with sleep. She 
moves wearily up stage and puts bowl on table at 
back; yawns again. Turning as she yawns, she catches 
sight of beds and claps hands joyfully. She runs to big 
bed, makes a jump, and lands so far over on the bed 
that she slips down on the other side. (This should be 
done from the back of bed toward footlights.) She 
looks at bed ruefully, rubs shoulder, and then turns to 
medium bed and lies down on it. Raises herself im- 
patiently, pulls pillows about, and finally jumps out 
of that bed half yawning, half crying. A pause. She 
rubs eyes, getting more and more sleepy, moves to little 
bed, drops on it, and with one big sigh is asleep. 

The door is pushed open and Big Bear comes in, fol- 
lowed by Medium Bear. Big Bear goes to rack, hangs 
hat on it, and puts his stick in the corner. Medium 
Bear goes to table, puts hat down, and reaches out for 
his bowl. Sees that the spoon is in it and stops, aston- 
ished ; sees the little bowl empty, and calls to Big Bear 
by clapping hands smartly. Meanwhile, Big Bear has 
gone down to his chair; seeing that it is displaced, 
turns crossly to Medium Bear just as he claps his hands. 
At this moment, Little Bear enters, running, throws 



132 PANTOMIMES; OR 

hat on floor, runs to table, and grabs his bowl. Find- 
ing it empty, rushes passionately at Medium Bear and 
slaps at him, crying and dancing with rage. Medium 
Bear tries to pacify him, but he pulls away and going 
toward his chair looks bewildered to find it lying on its 
side. Lifts it and finds it broken. Stops, throws up 
hands, and begins to cry again. Big Bear has gone to 
table, sees that his bowl has been touched, wags his 
head suspiciously ; trots over to his bed, finds it dis- 
ordered, growls angrily ; turns to Medium Bear, and 
pointing to bed with one hand, extends the other with 
the question ' ' Who has done this ? ' ' expressed in his 
face. Medium Bear answers by throwing both arms 
out, shaking head and shrugging shoulders. Then 
walks toward his own bed, and seeing pillows displaced 
repeats questioning gesture of Big Bear. Little Bear, 
who has been running around the room, looking into 
cupboard, under table, etc. suddenly spies Goldenhair 
asleep on his bed ; runs to the other Bears and pulls 
them down stage, pointing to his bed, and then runs to 
examine Goldenhair more closely. The other two Bears 
get behind the bed and stoop over, all looking closely at 
Goldenhair. The movements rouse her. She sits up, 
sleepily rubbing her eyes and sighing. Then, opening 
her eyes wide, sees Little Bear ; turns away from him 
in terror, and finds herself face to face with the other 
two Bears. She jumps from bed and, throwing her 



WORDLESS POEMS. 133 

arms up in terror, starts to run toward door. The two 
bears stop her, extending their hands in a friendly man- 
ner. Big Bear pats her on the shoulder, Medium Bear 
smooths her hair, and Little Bear kneels at her feet. 
She hides face in hands for a second, and then looks up 
with a smile, at which all the Bears clap their hands. 
Little Bear runs off, gets his bowl and holds it out to 
her, pointing his paw at her. She hangs her head 
for a moment, then takes bowl and runs to stove, 
Little Bear following. She takes a saucepan from the 
back of stove, looks into it, nods approvingly, and puts 
it on the front. Opens door of stove to see that the 
lire is all right, shuts it, pats Little Bear on shoulder, 
and stirs in the saucepan vigorously. Little Bear 
watches her, holding bowl in both hands. He makes 
gesture of hunger, and dances impatiently, first on one 
foot, then on the other. She fills his bowl, and they 
run down together to the chair. G-oldenhair picks it 
up, puts it back in its place, and fixes seat. Little Bear 
sits down and begins to eat very fast. The other Bears 
come down to Goldenhair and point to beds. She 
laughs, runs to beds aud smooths them out, replacing 
pillows. Bears laugh, each takes one of her hands, and 
they execute a little dance as the curtain falls. 



134 PANTOMIMES; OR 



SCENE FROM "THE WINTER'S TALE. 



Characters: — Leontes, King of Sicilia; Polixenes, King of 
Bohemia ; Florizel, son of Polixenes ; Caraillo, Sicilian lord ; Her- 
mione, Queen of Sicilia ; Perdita, her daughter ; Paulina, Sicilian 
lady ; lords and ladies. 

LEONTES conceives an insane jealousy of his wife, 
_> Hermione, brings her to trial, and orders her 
infant to be left in a desolate place by Antigones, the 
husband of Paulina. Antigones loses his life in a storm. 
The child is rescued and brought up by Bohemian peas- 
ants, and is discovered by the son of Polixenes, who 
becomes enamored of her and returns with her to her 
father's court, where she is acknowledged by the repent- 
ant King. Paulina has reported Hermione as dead, 
and has kept her concealed for sixteen years. She now 
announces to the King that she has a beautiful statue of 
Hermione which she wishes the husband and the daugh- 
ter to see. It is the unveiling of this statue which we 
have chosen for our pantomime. 

A room in Paulina's house. Enter Leontes, Polix- 
enes, Florizel, Perdita, Camillo, Lords and Attendants. 
Leontes thanks Paulina for many acts of friendship, 
bows to her and kisses her hand. Paulina kneels before 
him, then welcomes them all to her house. She is 
saying : 

' ' All my services you have paid home ; but that you 
have vouchsafed, with your crowned brother, and these 



WORDLESS POEMS. 135 

your contracted heirs of your kingdom, my poor house 
to visit, it is a surplus of your grace, which never my 
life may last to answer. ' ' 

"All my services you have paid home" — she lays 
hand on heart, shakes head, and wipes tears from eyes. 
Kneels at his feet, kisses his hand, crosses hands on 
bosom, then rises and thus expresses the rest of her 
welcome. 

u But that you have vouchsafed," etc. Extends 
hand to Leontes and bows ; then indicates by succeeding 
strokes of right hand, including in a graceful sweep of 
her arm Polixenes, Perdita, and Florizel. 

"It is a surplus of your grace, which never my life 
may last to answer. ' ' Turns again fully to Leontes, 
stretches out both hands obliquely (" surplus of grace "), 
sinks on knees, presses hands on heart, and shakes head. 

u But we came to see the statue of our queen. Your 
gallery have we passed through, not without much con- 
tent in many singularities ; but we saw not that which 
my daughter came to look upon, the statue of her 
mother. ' ' 

Leontes takes Paulina's hand and raises her very gra- 
ciously, then indicates the rest of the company ; makes 
step forward, and with both hands outlines the form of 
a statue ; then extends left arm as if embracing a form 
at his side, and with right index finger makes the form 
of a crown upon its head, then draws Perdita forward 



136 PANTOMIMES; OR 

to this imaginary form and puts his left arm around her. 

Paulina points to a curtain, as saying " Here it is." 
Raises finger, "Behold! " withdraws curtain and dis- 
covers Hermione on a pedestal. Leontes raises hands in 
wonderment, while all the rest make gestures of admira- 
tion. Leontes kneels before it and clasps hands as if in 
entreaty. Perdita hides face in hands. 

Leontes rises and, advancing toward Paulina, says : 
" And yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrin- 
kled." Makes stroke with index finger, then makes 
lines on his own face to indicate wrinkles, then extends 
his hand to the statue. 

Polixenes shakes head for, " Oh, not by much! ' : 

Paulina steps forward and says, shaking head : ' ' JS"o, 
that is true, but so would she be now " — makes marks 
on her face indicating wrinkles, points to the statue, 
then extends both hands to indicate present time. 

Leontes advances to statue ; ' ' Oh ! thus she stood 
when I first woo'd her. I am ashamed!" — extends 
hands toward her, raises them to indicate majesty, then 
buries face in hands. 

Perdita advances to statue and kneels, raising hands 
to implore blessing ; rising and advancing still further, 
she would take the statue's hand, but Paulina interposes, 
puts arms around Perdita and leads her back. 

Camillo and Polixenes now advance to Leontes, raise 
him from his knees and entreat him to take comfort. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 137 

Polixenes puts arm in Leontes's arm, and Camillo takes 
his hand, while Paulina advances to draw the curtain. 

Leontes starts away from his friends and forbids her ; 
then, going nearer, turns to Polixenes and points with 
much excitement to the statue. " See, my lord, would 
you not deem it breathed ? ' ' Breathes visibly himself 
to indicate his meaning. 

Polixenes nods head emphatically, then pointing to 
the statue, touches his lips with finger : 

u Masterly done. The very life seems warm upon 
her lip." 

They both draw nearer and look more eagerly. 
Paulina attemps to draw the curtain, but Leontes lays 
his hand upon her arm and again forbids it. Paulina 
now steps in front of statue, and holding up hand, 
enjoins silence, then turns to statue and beckons to it. 
The music strikes up, and Hermione descends from 
pedestal. Movement of intense astonishment, even 
terror, from everybody except Paulina and Hermione. 
Paulina takes Leontes's hand and leads him to Her- 
mione; they embrace. Leontes beckons to Perdita, 
who comes forward, and her mother clasps her in her 
arms and kisses her. Polixenes comes forward and 
kisses Hermione' s hand; then Camillo kneels and kisses 
her hand. Perdita runs forward, bringing Florizel to 
her mother, who embraces him. Hermione puts out 
hand to Paulina, still leaning on Leontes. Paulina kneels. 
Curtain. 



138 PANTOMIMES; OR 



RORY O'MORE. 



SAMUEL LOVER. 



THIS pantomime can be performed by either one 
person or two persons. The dress is a peasant's 
costume, which can be easily improvised. If more 
convenient, the part of Rory may be taken by a lady, 
who can wear a peasant's smock or a carter's dress. If 
taken by one person, the simple movement from the 
position of Rory to that of Kathleen is easily made with 
a little practice, turning on the foot from Position 1 to 
Position 2. This is good practice, but I think the pan- 
tomime gains in beauty with two figures. 

"When Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn," 

Rory stands before Kathleen, holding hat with both hands 
before his chest, and an expression upon his merry face of intense 
admiration. 
" He was bold as a hawk and she soft as the dawn. " 

He puts hat on the side of head with a swaggering air ; she 
looks at him coquettishly. 
" He wished in his heart pretty Kathleen to please," 

Rory takes a step or two behind her. 
' 'And he thought the best way to do that was to tease. ' ' 

Leaning over her shoulder, he tries to steal a kiss. 
" 'Now, Rory, be aisy!' sweet Kathleen would cry," 

Kathleen turns toward him with uplifted hand, as if about to 
box his ears for the impertinent liberty he is taking. 
' ' Reproof on her lip, but a smile in her eye. ' ' 



WORDLESS POEMS. 139 

Her merry eyes contradict the action of displeasure. 
u 'With your tricks I don't know, in troth, what I'm 

about — 
Faith, you've tazed till I've put on my cloak inside 
out!'" 

Seizing both sides of her turned-inside-out cloak, she turns her 
back to show him the situation. 

' ' ' Och, jewil, ' ' says Rory , ' that same is the way 
You've thrated me heart for this many a day ; ' " 

Rory takes advantage of the opportunity to seize her, cloak 
and all, and prevents her from righting it, because it is all for 
good luck. She struggles out of his grasp and faces him with 
feigned indignation. He shakes finger at her in playful accusa- 
tion, at the same time laying hand on heart. 
" 'And it's plazed that I am, an' why not, to be 
sure ?' " 

Dropping hands, he bends forward with the question "Why 
not ? " in face. 
u ' For 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More. " 

With a sort of dancing shuffle backward, he expresses good 
luck by throwing hands over head and snapping fingers, finishing 
by bending toward her and laughing in her face. 
" ' Indade, thin,' says Kathleen, 'don't think of the 
like,' " 

She turns to Rory, nods head to emphasize, shakes finger at 
"don't think of the like." 
" ' For I half gave a promise to soothering Mike.' " 

Points behind her with a mock expression of sentiment on face 
to signify the " soothering " and absent Mike. 
" 'The ground that I walk on he loves, I'll be 
bound!' " 



140 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Hand prone downward to signify ' ■ the ground ; " waving 
for motion "walk on." Throws kiss from fingers over shoulder 
for "he loves." Nods emphatically toward Rory for "I'll be 
bound!" 
" Says Rory, ' I'd rather love you than the ground/ 

Rory suddenly seizes and kisses her, laughing, then lets hand 
fall, pointing to the ground. 
" 'XoWj Rory, I'll cry if you don't let me go!' 

Kathleen struggles to release herself, making motion of push- 
ing him from her, with half -crying expression of face. 
" ' Sure, I clhrame ivry noight that I'm hating you 
so!' " 

Lays head on folded hands toward shoulder to signify 
" dhrames! " Awakes and shakes fist and stamps foot at him in 
playful anger. 

"'Och!' says Rory, "that same I'm deloighted to 
hear,' "' 

Rory dances in glee and kisses hand to her. 
u 'For dhrames always 2:0 by conthraries, me dear.' : 

Repeats her movement for "dhrames " ; then both pass hands 
around each other to the right, reversing to the left for ' ' con- 
thraries ;" then dance off and snap fingers for good luck. 
" ' Och, jewil, kape dhraming that same till you die. ' ; 

Approaches with saddened sobriety, emphasized by shaking 
finger at her, then nods with closed eyes, letting hands fall prone 
for "till you die." 

" 'An' broight morning shall give dhirty noight the 
black lie.'" 

For "bright morning" raise eyes and right hand toward the 
east to signify the rising sun, face bright and joyous ; then with 
hand moving toward west, let it fall suddenly ; face darkens as 



WORDLESS POEMS. 141 

in anger. End with emphatic stroke of clenched hand, oblique 

west. 

" 'An' 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure ? 

Since 'tis all for good luck,' says bold Rory O'More. " 

Suddenly break into laughter ; dancing movement and snap- 
ping fingers as before. 

"• ' Arrah, Kathleen, me darlint, you've tazed me 
enough,' " 

Rory, with sudden gravity, approaches Kathleen, emphasizing 
line with index finger and movement of head. 
" 'Sure, I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes 
an' Jim Duff;' " 

Motion of prostrating foes on right and left. 
" 'An' I've made myself, dhrinkin' your health, quite 
a baste, ' ' ' 

Throws back head and drinks imaginary bumper, staggers a 
little toward Kathleen. 
" ' So I think, afther that, I may talk to the j)raste.' " 

Takes her arm and while standing in position for a marriage, 
points over shoulder to imaginary priest. 

" And Rory, the rogue! stole his arm round her neck, 
So soft and so white, without freckle or speck, 
And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming w T ith 

light, 
And he kissed her sweet lips — don't you think he was 
right ? ' ' 

With roguish expression, puts arm about her, leans over and 
looks in her eyes, then without opposition kisses her. Without 
changing position, he looks at audience and with eyes says, 
" don't you think he was right ? " 



142 PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. 

"'Now, Rory, leave off, sir; you'll hug me no 
more ! ' " 
Kathleen feebly struggles to get away from him, pushing him 
off and wiping her lips with the back of her hand. 
" ' That's eight times to-day you have kissed me be- 
fore!' " 
Counts off eight fingers to him. 
ki ' Then here goes another,' says he, ' to make sure,' ' 

Rory seizes her and kisses her again, holding up one finger. 
"'For there's luck in odd numbers,' says Rory 
O'More! " 
Repeats dancing movement with snapping of fingers for good 
luck. Scene ends by Kathleen allowing him to take her arm, 
and they bow in position. 




Now, Rory, be aisy ! " 



; ' You've tazed till I've put on my cloak inside out ! 



Says Rory, "I'd rather love you than the ground.-' 



Now, Kory, I'll cry if you don't let me go ! 



So I think after that I may spake to the Praist." 



For there's luck in odd numbers," says Rory O'More. 



PANTOMIMES; OR WORDLESS POEMS. 157 



RECITATIONS. 



SIS. 

[From Harper's Magazine. Copyright, 1886, by Harper and Brothers.] 

TJ ER name is Ferginia, but dey calls her Lily, 
I I 'case she's so white; en my name is Sajane, 
en dey calls me Sis, 'case — 'case — well, I don' know no 
reason, 'cept de debil had a spite agin me." 

This forms the introduction to Sis and her nursling, 
and a strange contrast the two presented. Sis, elfish, 
grotesque, hump-shouldered, and black as the ace of 
spades; and Lily, petite, fairy-like, and fair as her 
name-flower, with eyes as blue as the heavens, and 
flaxen hair which crinkled and curled about her shoul- 
ders and formed a pretty framework for the baby face. 
Sis, in her blue cotton dress and white apron, with her 
woolly head enveloped in the inevitable ' ' head-hancher ' ' 
of the negro ; Lily, dainty and spotless from the crown 
of her fair head to the toe of her little blue slipper — 
and yet the two were as closely bound by ties of affec- 
tion as if born of the same mother. These ties were 
first riveted when Sis was permitted to lift the exquisite 
specimen of babyhood from the cradle, and was estab- 



158 PANTOMIMES; OR 

lished second nurse. For, in spite of her deformity, Sis 
was in great demand as a nurse — she was so faithful and 
bright, devoted to children. Her misfortune had made 
her a sort of pet in the family, ' ' Ole Mis' ' ' early 
transferring her from the rougher life of the negro 
quarters to the easy servitude of the family. 

They were not too devoted to have many a sharp 
skirmish, however, as the little lady, under her soft 
exterior, possessed a wilful nature and a strong sense 
of what was due to her small self, and Sis, occupying 
the superior position of guardian of the little lady, was 
not disposed to abate a tittle of her authority. 

Sis had a great objection to her nickname, and early 
determined that her little Miss Lily should give her her 
proper title ; but Lily soon learned that this concession 
could be used as a means of obtaining many indulgences, 
and used it accordingly. 

"Sis!" 

" I ain't name no Sis; I name Sajane, en so I dun 
tol' you time en agin. I don' love nobody what call 
me dat ugly name. ' ' 

" Well, if I call you Sajane, will you take me down 
to the quarters to see Aunt Dolly's little baby ? " 

u Miss Lily, chile, I can't do dat. Yo' mammy say 
I mils' keep yo' outen de sun." 

" Then you des ole Sis, en I ain't goin' to call you 
Sajane." 



WORDLESS POEMS. 159 

" Dyare, now, yon is des a bad chile, en I haffer take 
yon to ole mammy. ' ' 

Then quickly would follow the reconciliation, and 
they were more devoted than ever. 

Lily early discovered that Sis's form was not quite 
like other people's, and some instinctive feeling of deli- 
cacy made her shy about speaking of it. One day, 
however, the child said, touching the hard protuberance 
which was so different from any other back she knew, 
' ' Sajane, what makes you have this on your back ? ' ' 

Sis shook herself a little impatiently, and did not 
answer. 

Then Lily said, " I is sorry, Sajane;" and she was, 
though she did not know why. 

Sis clasped her arms a little tighter about the tiny 
form at the sound of the sympathizing words, and then 
blurted out : " Well, yo' see, when I was a little baby, 
littler den yo' is, Miss Lily, my mammy lef ' me on de 
bed while she went out to hang out her clothes, en 
somehow or udder I fell off dat bed, en when she cum 
back she find her little black baby layin' under de bed, 
wid her back all broke ; en dat what make it lump up 
ugly dis way." 

Lily did not raise her head, but Sis could feel the 
sobs which shook the little form, and she said, in a 
shaky voice : 

"Don' cry, Miss Lily." 



160 PANTOMIMES; OB 

' ' Oh, Sajane, ' ' broke out the child, as her little 
arms stretched out to embrace the misfortune on 
Sajane' s back, "Oh, Sajane! poor Sajane! I love 
you. Lily thinks you is buful, if ev'ybody does think 
you is ugly. ' ' 

" Humph!" said Sis, her sense of humor coming in 
to break up the pathos, which was becoming too strong 
for her, "Humph! Cose I's b'utiful! Who says 
Sajane is ugly?" and then she laughed, so that in a 
minute Lily had to wipe away her tears and laugh too. 

One bright Sabbath afternoon in midsummer Sis had 
been permitted to go to church, and Lily, now five 
years old, after spending the hours between mammy in 
her nursery and mamma in her room, was permitted to 
go out with a small ebon attendant, Fanny by name, to 
watch for the return of Sis. Soon they saw her 
approaching, dressed in her new homespun dress and 
white apron, and mamma's last summer bonnet sur- 
mounting her bright cotton ' ' head-hancher. ' ' The two 
children ran to meet her with eager cries of joy, but 
Sajane retained an aspect of forbidding solemnity as she 
said: " Chillun, you wouldn' laf uv a Sunday ef you 
had heyard Bro' Peter Stubbs hold fofe like I did dis 
bressid Sabbat day, en you am' nudder uv you bin to 
church. Oh, I's oneasv 'bout you!" Here followed 
a deep groan of anguish, which melted the two young 



WORDLESS POEMS. 161 

culprits like wax before the fire. They fairly cowered 
in the presence of their judge. 

" I spec I better hab church fur you. Don't you 
want me to preach fur you like Bro' Peter Stubbs? I 
tell you, de people jest howled like wolfs 'fo' he wuz 
dun wid 'em." A trembling assent was given by the 
two children, and Sis, mounting a moss-covered rock, 
with her small audience before her on the grassy carpet, 
proceeded to hold a service — in direct imitation of 
"Bro' Peter," it must be presumed, as she completely 
smothered her own identity. First she struck up the 
hymn, in which Fanny joined with fervor, and even 
Lily took up the chorus. 

' ' Sister, dus you want to git aligion ? 

Go down in de lonesome valley. 
Sister Mary got de letter, 
Sister Martha got de letter, 

To meet my Jesus dere, 
'Way down in de lonesome valley. " 

Next followed the sermon, " fum de tex' w'ich is 
foun' in de Holy Book whens all our comforts comes, 
w Dese here shill go to eberlastin' fire.' 

"My bredren and sisters, to you I speaks in dese 
solem' words, en may de Lord in His marcy sen' down 
fire and brimstone en melt you' hard hearts!" 

Sis had not quite calculated upon the speedy effect 
of her eloquence. First the undue solemnity of her 
salutation, then the weird singing, and now the stirring 



162 PANTOMIMES; OR 

petition for lire and brimstone, so wrought upon the 
excitable little girl that she broke into loud cries, in 
which she was joined by Fanny, and both children fled 
into the house before Sis could stop them. 

" What's the matter with my darling ? " said mam- 
ma, opening her arms wide. 

tc Oh, mamma, I'm such a sinner!" 

"Fur de lor's sakes, what is cle matter?" said old 
mammy, catching Fanny by the shoulders. 

" I's sech a sinner, too!" exclaimed the little 
mourner. 

"Sinner indeed!" exclaimed the irate guardian, as 
she commenced a tattoo upon the mourner's shoulders. 
" I'll teach you to be a sinner here in de house wid de 
white folks ! Go long to de quarters, en be a sinner 
dere wid de niggars! You's jest fittin' to stay dar, 
bein' a sinner en skeerin' de chillurn to def. Go 'long 
wid you, en don't lemme see you till you stops bein' a 
sinner ! ' ' 

Passing years touch the fair nursling of Sajane with 
developing hand, transforming her from the baby into a 
little maiden who knows how to read. Sis has attained 
to womanhood in years, but still looks like an elfish 
child. A new lire burns in her eyes ; it is a thirst for 
knowledge. She must know all that is in the books she 
sees Lily reading. So she sets her wits to work to per- 
suade the little lady to teach her. It is not a hard 



WORDLESS POEMS. 163 

thing to do at first. She could lord it over Sajane to 
her full satisfaction, and for once Sajane made no 
resistance. But after a while Lily found her pupil so 
apt that her own laurels were in danger ; and then, too, 
she tired of her task; and so one day she announced 
that she would not teach Sis any more. In vain Sis 
pleaded ; in vain she offered rewards ; taffy and peanuts 
w T ere rejected. Sis reproached her. 

" Law, Miss Lily, you ought to be 'shamed. Whar 
would you 'a bin ef Sis hadn't nuss you? You'd 'a 
bin ded, en in yo' coffin — dat you would. ' ' 

Sis took a little time to form her plans. Lily had not 
been quite well. Mamma said she had been sitting up 
too late, and Sis was instructed to see that her charge 
was in bed at an earlier hour. 

The sun had scarcely disappeared, and the rosy light 
of his face still illuminated the western sky, when Lily 
was disturbed at her play by Sis's voice, saying, " Come 
Miss Lily, you mus' go to bed. ' ' 

"Oh, Sis, I won't! " 

"Yes, you mus' ; yo' mar said I was to put you to 
bed early, en de sun is down, en you mus' go." 

Lily knew of the order, and was forced to yield, 
which she did rather sulkily ; but Sajane, with an ob- 
ject to accomplish, spared no blandishments to restore 
her to good humor. As she undressed her she told her 
all the stories she knew Lily liked best, those of a re- 



164 PANTOMIMES; OR 

ligious tendency having the predominance, as best calcu- 
lated to produce a proper frame of mind. The salutary 
influence of this treatment was apparent in the meek 
tones of the little maiden's voice as she knelt in her 
white nightdress at Sis's knee, and repeated: 

' Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep; 
If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my soul to take. " 

Once fairly ensconced in bed, Sis's plan bloomed forth 
suddenly in all its diabolical wickedness. 

"■Tfowj Miss Lily, chile, I gwyin' to read you to 
sleep." 

Lily rose in her wrath. " You can't read; you shan't 
read to me." 

"Miss Lily, dat's bery wicket in you, not to want to 
hear me read de Bible to you — jist after you sed yo' 
Dravers too. God won't love you, en maybe you will 
die befo' you wakes. What you tink yo' mudder gwine 
say when .she hyar you don' wan' hyar de Bible read? 
You sholy ought to be 'shame' of yo'self, Miss Lily, 
chile. I is on easy 'bout you — 'deed I is; you bettah 
ax God to forgif you 'fo' you shets yo' eyes." And 
Sis's voice became cpiite plaintive as she painted with 
master touch the perils awaiting the young reprobate. 

If it had been broad daylight, with the whole day 
ahead. Sis would have scored no easy victory in the con- 
test; but the gathering shadows fell upon the little 



WORDLESS POEMS. 165 

heart, and the thought of the long, dark night she must 
pass, and the possible appearing at the awful Judgment 
bar, broke her spirit of resistance, and a very meek little 
voice answered, " Go on, then, Saiane. " 

Not a shadow of the triumphant bound her heart gave 
showed itself as she opened the Bible and began : 

"'Noww-h-e-n — ' What do- v-h-e-n spell, Miss 
Lily?" 

' ' When, ' ' was the answer from ihe bed, in a very 
patient voice. 

" ' Now when Jesus was b-o-y-^-— ' Oh, Miss Lily, 
what do dat spell? " 

' ' Born ! ' ' came in louder tones fitom the bed. 

"'Now when Jesus was born in Be-be-t-h-1-e- 
h-e-m — ' Laws gracious, Miss Lily, what is all dis ? 
I neber see sich a big word. 'Tis a whole Bible at oncet. 
What do it spell, Miss Lily? " 

" Oh, Sis, let me go to sleep! ' tied the tormented 
child, her indignation overmastering her fears. 

"Oh, you wicked chile, not to want to know where 
Jesus was born ! ' ' said Sis, in sad rebuke. 

' ' Bethlehem ! ' ' shouted Lily at the top of her voice. 

Sis resumed her reading without any change of tone. 

"Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of J-u- 
d-e-a — ' Oh, Miss Lily. 

Lily rose up in bed, thoroughly aroused. " Sis, if 
you don't let me alone and let me go to sleep, I'll scream 



166 PANTOMIMES; OR 

as loud as I can, and tell mamma that you put me to bed 
in broad daylight just to teach you to read." 

"Miss Lily, chile " — Sis's voice was tremulous with 
tender reproof — "I don't know what's cum over you. 
You ain' like you wuz when you wuz a little baby, en 
I use to nuss you en cyar you roun'. I's feard de ole 
Satan is gittin' hoi' of you — " 

" Sis," said Lily, sitting up straight in bed, " I just 
know ezakly what you put me to bed for ; but I'll teach 
you to read five verses if you will promise to go away 
then and let me go to sleep. ' ' 

The required promise was given, and the lesson fol- 
lowed, upon which Sajane could be heard to say under 
her breath: "Well, I dun larn consider' ble to-night. 
I'll git it out of dat chile yit." 

A few more years and Lily is a big girl, still fairy- 
like and fair, disposed to be dreamy and self-absorbed, 
but first in the constant affections of Sajane, who tyran- 
nized over her as only Southern nurses know how to do. 

It was a rule in the well-ordered household that every 
child must be at morning prayers, the unfortunate de- 
linquent being punished by having a breakfast of dry 
bread. Lily was apt to pick up a book and idle the 
time away until the last moment, and then hurry Sis to 
dress her. If Sis happened to be in a good humor, she 
made no trouble about it, but woe be to Lily if she had 
"put on any a'rs " and provoked her. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 167 

One morning this had been the case. Lily had been 
very provoking. The prayer bell was imminent. Lily 
was fnlly aronsed to the danger of her situation. " Oh, 
Sis, dress me ! ' ' had sounded several times. Sis was 
busy with the other children. ' ' Miss Lily ' ' must wait. 
At last, goaded to the utmost, Lily exclaimed, with 
flashing eyes : 

' ' Sis, I order you to dress me at once. What were 
you made for, miss, but to wait on me ? ' ' 

1 ' What was I made for but to wait on you ! You 
better ax yo' mudder dat question. What she gwine to 
say when she hear how you talks to her po' niggar ? 
What was /made fur but to wait on you ? I'll show 
you what. Jist wait till I ready to dress you; I's busy 
now. ' ' 

Lily was shocked at herself as soon as the words were 
out of her mouth, but not so sorry as she was as she 
munched her "bread of affliction" morning after morn- 
ing, in sad repentance, with her hair plaited back so 
tight that every hair pricked, and she could hardly shut 
her eyes ; and she did not complain, as she knew further 
punishment would be meted out to her if her mother 
should hear of her unkind and arrogant speech. It was 
a principle with Virginia mothers never to encourage 
children to " tell tales." Lily's mamma heard the whole 
of this contest, and left it to work out its own result, 
which was repentance on both sides, and renewed affec- 
tion. 



168 PANTOMIMES; OR 



BOKKOWEKS. 



ALMOST every neighborhood has its borrowers. 
Generally, they are great pests ; but the follow- 
ing, no doubt, is an extreme case. 

Mr. Butterwick called in to see me the other day, and 
in the course of the conversation said : 

" I am going to move. I can't stand those Thomp- 
sons next door to me any longer. They are the awfulest 
people to borrow things I ever saw. Coffee and butter 
and sugar and flour, I don't mind so much, although 
when a woman borrows high-priced sugar and Java 
coffee and sends back sand and chicory, a man naturally 
feels bilious mad. But they've borrowed near every- 
thing in the house. First it's one thing and then 
another from morning till night, right straight along. 

"Now, there's the poker. A poker is a piece of 
machinery that you would think anyone might go around 
and buy, or, if they couldn't afford it, they might use a 
fence paling to shake up the fire. But Mrs. Thompson 
seems to hanker after our poker. She borrows it fifteen 
or twenty times a day, and last Saturday she sent for it 
thirty-four times. She pays a boy $2 a week to run 
over and borrow that poker, and she's used it so much 
that it's all bent. 

"Now, take chairs, for instance. She asks me to 
lend her our chairs three times a day, at every meal, and 



WORDLESS POEMS: 169 

she borrows the rocking-chair whenever she wants to put 
the baby to sleep. A couple of times she sent over for 
a sofa, and when the boy came back with it, he said 
Mrs. Thompson was mad as thunder and kept growling 
round the house all because there were no casters on it. 
On Monday she borrowed our wash-boiler, and we had 
to put off washing till Tuesday. She did her preserv- 
ing in it, and the consequence was, all our clothes 
were full of preserved peaches. I've got on an under- 
shirt now that I'm mighty doubtful if I'll ever get off, 
it's stuck to me so tight. 

" Every now and then she has company, and then she 
borrows our hired girl and all the parlor furniture. Once, 
because I would not carry the piano for her and take 
down the chandelier, she told our girl that there were 
rumors about town that I was a reformed pirate. Per- 
fectly scandalous ! They think nothing of sending over 
after a couple of bedsteads or the entry carpet, and the 
other day Thompson says to me : 

' ' Butterwick, does your pump-log pull up easy ? ' 
And when I said I thought it did, he said : " Well, I 
would like to borrow it for a few days till I can get one, 
for mine's all rotted away.' The only wonder to me is 
that he didn't try to borrow the well along with it. 

"And then on Tuesday Mrs. Thompson sent that boy 
over to know if Mrs. Butterwick wouldn't lend her our 
front door. She said theirs was being painted, and she 
was afraid that baby would catch cold. When I asked 



170 PANTOMIMES; OR 

him what he supposed we were going to do to keep 
comfortable without any front door, he said Mrs. 
Thompson told him if I wouldn't send over the front 
door, to ask Mrs. Butterwick to lend her a pair of 
striped stockings and a horse-hair bustle, and to borrow 
the coal-scuttle till Monday. AVhat in the name of 
Moses she is going to do with the bustle and the coal- 
scuttle, I can't conceive. But they're most extraor- 
dinary people. 

"Last Fourth of July, the boy came over and told 
Mrs. Butterwick that Mrs. Thompson would be much 
obliged if she'd lend her the twins for a few minutes; 
said Mrs. Thompson wanted them to suck off a new 
bottle- top, because it made her baby sick to taste fresh 
India rubber ! Cheeky, wasn't it ? But her way. Why, 
I've known her to take off our Johnny's pants, when 
he's been playing over there with the children, and send 
him home bare-legged to tell his mother that she bor- 
rowed them for a pattern. And on Thompson's birth- 
day she said her house was so small for a party, that 
if we'd lend her ours, we might come late in the even- 
ing and dance with the company, if we wouldn't let 
on that we lived there. 

u Yes, sir; I'm going to move. I'd rather live next 
to a lunatic asylum, and have maniacs pouring red-hot 
shot over the fence every hour in the day. Indeed I 
would!" 



WORDLESS POEMS. 171 



AU.NT AKARKY'S PKESENTS. 



A TRUE STORY. 



AUNT ANAKKY was an old servant in the family 
in slave days, and Las never gotten over the idea 
that she has a lien upon her old masters and mistresses, 
and with the greatest freedom she makes them respon- 
sible for the fulfilment of all her wants and wishes. 

I was walking up and down the gallery of my South- 
ern home one morning before breakfast, when I saw the 
old woman come through the gate into the yard with a 
large basket on her arm, which, I may remark, was her 
invariable accompaniment. She came toward me with a 
broad smile of greeting, and said : 

"Good mornin', mistis, I'm monsus glad to see yo' 
dis mornin 1 , an' hopes yo' 's well an' slep' good las' 
night, an' dat ol' massa's got ober de rheumatis in his 
back, an' dat dem chilluns is all well when yo' heerd 
from 'em. Law me! jes' to t'ink it was jes' t'other day 
I was a-nussin' clem boys an' gals! Now dey's got a 
lot o' babies o' dey own. Yes, suttinly time does pass! 
I t'ink, mistis, it pass mo' de older yo' gits. An', mistis, 
I done fotch yo' some eggs " (setting her basket down 
and bringing up her hands full of white, new laid eggs), 



172 PANTOMIMES; OR 

" 'case I know' d eggs was sca'ce. Dey's a dozen all 
but five." 

Although I knew the dangerous results of such pres- 
ents, yet, womanlike, I accepted the situation and the 
eggs, saying : 

" I'm much obliged to you, Aunt Anarky. Eggs 
are scarce. What do you ask for them ? ' ' 

" Lor', chile, can't anybody bring yo' a present wid- 
out axin' nothin' fur 'em ? Dem eggs is a present." 

Again I thanked her. Another dive into the basket. 

" An', mistis, here's two years o' popcorn dat Froney 
Ann sont yo', 'case she says popcorn 's so good endur- 
in' de winter." 

More thanks, more rummaging in my brain for the 
means of repaying these accumulating and vast obliga- 
tions. Another dive into the basket. 

u An', mistis, here's some flower seed dat Mely 
sont yo', 'case she know'cl yo' so fond o' nasturslmn. " 

More thanks, and as there were no more gifts, I said : 

" Aunt Anarky, won't you go into the kitchen and 
get your breakfast ? ' ' 

My invitation was received with the most bewildering 
astonishment. " De Lor' sakes, chile, ain' yo' done yo* 
breakfas' yit ? I bin down at breakfas' so long I mos' 
done forgot it. Why, mistis, the sun clone three hours' 
high, but I 'spec' I can eat sumpin. " 

So, setting her basket down where I would see it, and 



WORDLESS POEMS. 173 

seeing fill it, she trotted off toward the kitchen, turning 
as she got to the door to say waggishly : 

' ' Mistis, I bet I dreen dat coffee-pot fur yo' . ' ' 

She went down town after breakfast and came back 
in time for her dinner, after which she came in for her 
basket, into which I had put a number of articles which I 
thought might be useful to the family. She picked it up, 
shook hands, said good-bye, stopped with a start of con- 
sternation, and exclaimed: " De Lor' sakes, mistis, I 
like to done forgot de message Froney sont yo'. She 
axed me to ax yo' would yo' please, marm, sen' her 
some needles an' thed, an' one ob yo' ol' hoop-skirts, ef 
yo' got it, mistis; an' Mely say, would yo' sen' her 
apyare ob yo' old Sunday shoes. Dem yo' got on do jes' 
as well as any udder, mistis ; Mely don'' want to be on- 
reasonable noways. An' one ob yo' ol' dresses, mistis, 
she ain' got no thin' to wear to church. An' she'd like 
some quilt pieces, ef yo' please, marm ; she wants to 
'serve her mem'ry ob youse an' de chillun's frocks." 

As far as possible, these demands were complied with, 
and as she pressed them down into the basket, she said, 
with a gratified chuckle : 

"I te' yo', won' dem gals be proud when dey see all 
dese t'ings comin' ! " Then, looking at me with a 
curious expression, she said: "Mistis, yo' ain' got no 
old kaliky curtains to line my bed-quilt with, is yo' ? 
An' a little dus' o' flour, an' a cup or two o' rice, 



174 PANTOMIMES; OB 

mistis, an' any little t'ing yo' got handy ? You know 
I didn't charge yo' nothin' fur dem eggs, mistis. An', 
mistis, Efrim say, would you please, marm, sen' him a 
little sweeten' fur his coffee?" 

With her basket piled up to the very top and burst- 
ing through every crevice, she tottered off toward the 
door, turning as she reached it to say, u De Lor' knows, 
mistis, what dat nigger wants with de sweetenin' fur 
his coffee when he ain' a got a grain o' coffee fur to put 
it in!" 



■~4^~ 



WORDLESS POEMS. 175 



SMITH'S BOY. 



H 



IS astonishing revelations concerning the members 
of his own family were told to Mr. Brown's 
boy, who told them to me. 

" Yeth, me an' him 'th right intimate. He knowth 
more than I do, 'cauth he'th had more exthperienth. 
Bill thay hith father wath a robber. 

(Smith, by the way, is an elder in the Presbyterian 
church, and is considered a man of exemplary piety.) 

" Bill thay that he'th got ten millionth of dollarth of 
gold buried down in hith thellar along with a lot of 
human boneth, people he'th killed. An' Bill thay that 
hith father makth all the earthquakth that happen any- 
where in the world, an' when the old man comth home 
thometimes, he feelth tlio thorry for him, 'cauth he'th 
all tired to death makin' earthquakth. It thtandth to 
reathon it'th hard work tearin' up the earth that way. 
An' Bill thay that hith father juth taketh bith out of 
people if he don't like 'em, an' a lightnin'-rod man 
come along one day, an' Bill- thay hith father juth ate 
him right up, 'cauth he got mad at him. 

" An' Bill thay one day he wath a-iryin' of a kite, an' 
he had one of theth little dogth that juth run along, an' 
Bill thay he tied the kite to the dogth tail juth for fun, 



176 PANTOMIMES; OR 

an' prethently the wind thruck her an' the went boom- 
in' down the thtreet about a mile with her hind legthin 
the air. Prethently the kite commenthed going up. 
Thoon the dog was fifteen milth high, an' could thee 
California an' Egypt, an' Oshkosh, I think Bill thed, or 
it thound like that, but I don't like to thay for ther- 
tain. Anyhow, I know he come down in Brathil, an' 
he thwam all the way home in the Atlantic ocean, an' 
when he got there all hith legth wath et off by the 
tharkth. I with my father would give me a dog tho I 
could thend it off that way, but he never givth me 
nothin'. I never have no fun like Bill doth; he's too 
thtrick. 

" Bill thay another time he wath a-flyin' of hith kite, 
an 1 he went up on top of the houth to give himthelf 
plenty of room, an' thet up on the chimley, an' the old 
man had put a keg of powder down below there to blow 
thethut out of the .chimley, an' he thet her off juth then, 
an' Bill wath blowed over against the Baptith church 
thteeple, an' he hung on there for four dayth before 
they could get him off. He juth lived by eatin' the 
crowth that come an' thet on him, 'cauth they thought 
he wath made out of theet-iron and put there for pur- 
puth. 

' ' Bill thay that hith brother invented a thothage 
thtuffer onth. It wath a kind of a mathine what worked 
with a treadle. You put the mathine on the hog'th 



WORDLESS POEMS. 177 

back an' the hog'th foot on the treadle, an' you thuck 
him with a pin an' that made the hog move the treadle, 
you know, 'an in a minute the hog wath cut up in fine 
pieces in the treddle an' thtuffed an' thkinned, an' Bill 
thay hith brother called every hog hith own thtuffer. 
That muth o' bin a right curiouth kind of a mathine to 
work. I can't juth thee how he did it, but I know 
ith tho, 'cause Bill'th a good boy, he ith, an' never tellth 
no thtorieth. He goeth to Thunday thkool, he doeth. 

" He' th a good boy, he ith, an' he told me about 
hith uncle what lived out in Authtralia, what wath et 
by a big oythter; an' he thtayed there till he et the 
oythter. Then he thplit the thellth open, took one of 
'em for a boat, an' he thailed along, an' he thailed along, 
till he come to a thea-therpent, an' juth caught it an' 
thripped ith thkin all off of it, an' thold it to an engine 
company to put out fireth with, He thold it for forty 
thouthand dollarth. 

" An' Bill thay the Injunth took him wunth an' they 
cut hith thcalp off, an' thtuck him half a dothen timeth 
through the body, an' never hurt him a bit. He juth 
made hith ethcape by the daughter of the chief takin' 
him out of the wigwam an' givin' him a north to ride. 
Bill thay — Bill thay — he ! he ! — that the wath in 
love with him. He thay he could thow me the holth in 
hith body now, but he'th afraid to take hith cloth off, 
fear he'd bleed to death. Nobody don't know about 



178 PANTOMIMES; OR 

it. Wouldn't tell the old man 'cause lie'th 'fraid he'd 
worry about it. 

"Bill tkay he ain't goin' to Tkunday thkool no 
more; thay he'th goin' to turn a heathen, 'cauth kith 
father's got a brath idol at kome. He'tk goin' to wear 
a blanket an 1 carry a tomakawk atk tkoon atk tke 
weatker gets warm. 

' ' Bill tkay kith father dug a big hole under thith thity , 
an' got it all tilled up with dynamite an' powder an' 
thingth, an' lie'th goin' to blow her up when he geth 
ready. An' Bill thay he goin' to tell me, tko I can 
get away. Bill liketh me, lie do. An' Bill tkay — but 
tkar'tk Bill now; do you kear kim wkitklin' ? I ectk- 
pec' ke got tkometkin' more to tell me. I mutk go. 
Good-bye. 



* *x 38* 



WORDLESS POEMS. 179 



CABIN PHILOSOPHY. 



Irwin Russell. 



COME turn dat backlog over dyar, an' draw your 
stools up higher, 
An' watch dat 'possum cookin' in de skillet 'fore de 

fire. 
Let me stretch my feet out on de harf ter mek my 

feelin's flow, 
An' I'll grine you out a few fac's ter take afore you go. 
In dese busy latter workin'-days deys changed de Scrip- 

ter fashions, 
An' you needn't look ter miracles ter furnish you wid 

rations. 
Now, when you'se wantin' loaves o' bread, you got ter 

go an' fetch 'em, 
An' when you'se wantin' fishes, you urns' dig de worms 

an' ketch 'em. 
You may set it down as sartain dat de day is long gone 

by 

When sassengers an' taters does rain furm out de sky. 
Ef you t'ink about it karefully, an' put it to de dis, 
You'll fine out dat de safes' place is giner'ly de bes\ 



180 PANTOMIMES; OR 

When you stum'els on a hornets' lies' an' meks de crit- 
ters scatter, 
Don' stan' dyar like a fool an' argufy de matter. 
An' when de yaller fever cum an' settle all aroun', 
It's better dan de karintine ter shuffel out er town. 
Dar's a hea' o' drefful music in de very fines' fiddle, 
An' a ripe an' yaller apple may be rotten in de middle, 
De wises' lookin' traveler may be de bigges' fool ; 
En dyar's heap o' solid kickin' in de 'umblest lookin' 

mule. 
Dat preacher ain' de holies' dat wares de meekes' look, 
An' does de bigges' bangin' on de kiver ob de book. 
De people spends dey bigges' bills in buyin' lots an' 

lands, 
An' scatters all dey pickeyimes aroun' de peanut stan's. 
De fifties an' de twenties goes ter payin' ob de rents, 
An' heaben an' de organ-grinder gits de copper cents. 
I neber likes dem niggers dat t'inks so much ob eatin', 
Dat frolics all de workin'-days, den snoozes at de 

meetin's. 
Dat jines de temp'ance sideys an' keeps on gettin' tight, 
An' picks de watermilyuns in de middle ob de night. 
Dese milmgtery nigger chaps, wid der muskets in der 

han', 
Dat marches thro' de country ter de music ob de ban's, 
Had better drop de muskets an' take ter marchin' wid 
de hoe, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 181 

While dey arns an' hones' libbin' a-hoein' de cotton row, 
Or de State will hab dem arter while a-drillin' in de 

ditches, 
Wid more dan a single stripe a-rnnnin' 'roun' der 

britches. 
You t'ink dat doin' nothin's bery sof an' nice, 
But it busted up de renters in de lubly Paradise. 
You see dey was human bein's jes' like me an' you, 
An' dey couldn' regerlate demselves wid nothin' 'tall 

ter do ; 
Wid a hard day's work before 'em, an' a cottin crat ter 

make, 
Dey'd nebber thot ob loafin' an' chattin' wid dat snake. 



182 PANTOMIMES; OR 



THE BAKEK'S WIFE. 



OTUDENTS of Ollendorff's grammars have often 
*^ found fault with the frequent mention made of 
the baker, the baker's wife, and the butcher in the exer- 
cises. They have asked, " Why should we be annoyed 
with puerile questions regarding the baker and his wife, 
and why should we be told whether the butcher is 
hungry or thirsty ? ' ' Critics have often spoken of the 
puerility of the information concerning bakers and 
butchers which Ollendorff conveys to his students, and 
ridicule without measure has been poured upon Ollen- 
dorff by humorous writers. 

Fortunately for the reputation of the grave German 
professor of languages, the true meaning of his allu- 
sions to the butcher, the baker, and the baker's wife has 
just been discovered. While the primary object of 
Ollendorff's grammars is to furnish instruction in lan- 
guages, the author has woven into the exercises a roman- 
tic and painful story. If we take an isolated sentence 
concerning the butcher and the baker's wife, it will, of 
course, seem foolish and impertinent ; but if we group 
together in their order all the remarks made concerning 
those persons by Ollendorff, we shall find in our pos- 
session a story of crime and passion worthy of a French 
realistic novelist. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 183 

We are first introduced to the baker in one of the 
earliest pages of Ollendorff, where it is asserted that, 
c ' The baker is neither hungry nor thirsty ; he is sleepy. ' ' 
Thus, in a few words, the character of this man is set 
before us. He has enough to eat and drink ; he lives 
in a state of drowsy contentment. A little later, and 
the baker's wife appears on the scene. She is " neither 
warm nor sleepy." Obviously she is a cold, cunning, 
wide-awake person, and we can easily see that she would 
have no affection for her dull, prosaic partner. She has 
"the cotton dress aud the leather shoes." In other 
words, she is plainly dressed, according to her station in 
life, and, as the sequel shows, she is dissatisfied. 

Presently the butcher enters. He is a bad man, for 
Ollendorff expressly says: "The butcher is not good; 
he is bad." We are told that, "He is thirsty," and 
without doubt he slakes this chronic thirst with beer ! 
He is evidently a prosperous man, for, ' ' He has the 
large, handsome horse and the golden carriage. ' ' Such 
is the brief but masterly description of this bold, bad 
man. 

How the butcher made the acquaintance of the baker's 
wife, we are not told, but the disastrous consequences of 
their acquaintance are forcibly pictured. We then hear 
that, "The baker's wife has a silk dress and a gold 
watch," and we instinctively know that they were given 
to her by the wicked butcher. A little further on we 



184 PANTOMIMES; OR 

are told that "The baker's wife has tea, coffee, sugar, 
and milk, ' ' and we need not ask how she came by these 
articles. The baker evidently has his suspicions, for we 
find that "He is not sleepy, but he is cold." He lias 
awakened at last to the danger which threatens his home, 
and he may well feel chilly and uncomfortable. 

The butcher, not content with destroying the baker's 
happiness, proceeds to rob him. We learn that ' ' The 
butcher has the silver candlesticks of the baker's wife." 
Unquestionably, the baker was the real owner of these 
candlesticks, but his wretched wife gave them to her 
partner in guilt. Then we are told that, ' ' The butcher 
has the silk handkerchief of the baker," and we per- 
ceive that the butcher, with the help of the baker's 
wife, is systematically obtaining possession of the baker's 
property. No wonder that a few pages further on we 
learn that, "The baker is hungry and cold;" that, 
" The baker has no money ; " and that, " The baker is 
ill." Poor deceived, robbed, and heart-broken man! 

This is the last that we hear of the baker, and it is 
not long before the butcher vanishes from Ollendorff. 
The last we hear of him is that, "He has the fine, 
black coat of the baker." Probably the baker has died 
of grief, and the heartless butcher has seized even the 
baker's clothes. But by this time the butcher has prob- 
ably grown tired of the baker's wife, and is ready to 
desert her. Whether he simply runs away or whether 



WORDLESS POEMS. 185 

he is accidentally killed by ' ' the large, handsome horse, ' ' 
we shall never know. He disappears as soon as he gets 
the baker's coat, and is never heard of more. As for 
the wicked woman, we are casually told that, "The 
blacksmith is well, but the baker's wife has the fever." 
Doubtless this fever proved fatal, for with these few 
significant words the romance of the " Baker's Wife " 
comes to an abrupt end. 

Let us hear no more of the puerility of Ollendorff, 
but rather let us honor in him the novelist as well as the 
grammarian. 



186 PANTOMIMES; OR 

t 



A MAY-DAY FLITTING. 



MARY TUCKER MAGILL. 



[From Harper's Bazar. Copyright, 1886. by Harper and Brothers.] 

THERE is no day in the whole year which brings 
such anguish to the hearts of the citizens of New 
York City who contemplate a change of residence, as the 
first day of May. Mrs. Lightlace is a citizen of the 
great metropolis, and Mrs. Lightlace is obliged to move ; 
consequently, that lady is the victim of care and anxiety. 
It is true that she has moved before ; but, unhappily, 
familiarity with the operation does not engender love 
for it, and in all her other moves she has had the assist- 
ance of Mr. Lightlace, and he has made his last move, 
with the assistance of the undertaker, and his sorrowing 
partner has to " go it alone, 1 ' or with the meagre as- 
sistance afforded by her little daughter Alice. It is very 
provoking that her landlord has sold the house over her 
head, and to a man who is so unreasonable as to wish to 
live in it himself, and has given her notice to evacuate 
the premises by the 1st of May. Now, Mrs. Lightlace 
is both an ambitious and an energetic woman. She savs 
to Alice, "What other women have done I can do, and 
I am determined that your Aunt Grimshaw and your 
Cousin Jemima Strong and your Uncle James and his 



WORDLESS POEMS. 187 

wife shall not have it to say, as I know they will if they 
get a chance, that poor Mary is so little fitted to fight 
the battle of life alone. I am going to show them that 
I am equal to any emergency. ' ' And on the emphatic 
" any " Mrs. Lightlace threw up her head like a " war- 
horse scenting the battle afar off," and Alice looked 
the awe she felt over the astounding spirit of her heroic 
parent. 

So when Uncle James came, as in duty bound, to 
his brother's widow, and offered to assist her, she said, 
with praiseworthy unselfishness, as she laid her hand on 
his arm in true sisterly fashion : ' ' You are most kind, 
my dear brother, but I must decline with thanks. I 
made up my mind when my dear husband left me," 
(here Mrs. Lightlace wiped away from her eyes a tribute 
to the dear departed) ' ' that I would never burden any- 
one with my troubles. Each one has his own to bear, 
and I must learn to take care of myself and little Alice 
here. I shall do very well. ' ' 

So Brother James went away with an easy mind, 
greatly relieved that he might devote himself to his own 
moving with an easy conscience ; and Mrs. Lightlace 
would have been pleased had she overheard him telling 
Sister Grimshaw and Jemima Strong and his wife that, 
' ' Poor Mary is a very sensible woman ; has very good 
ideas of taking care of herself." 

After many disappointments, a house was secured^ 



188 PANTOMIMES; OR 

and then the all-important matter of an expressman 
with his wagon was to be considered. ' ' He must be 
reliable and he must be reasonable," said the woman of 
judgment. If Mrs. Lightlace had been as wise as she 
fancied herself, she would have consulted Brother James 
on this all-important question, as anyone experienced in 
the business of May moving knows the demoralizing in- 
fluence of that fateful day on the most trustworthy 
expressman. The only question which agitates him is 
how large a harvest he can reap from the necessities 
of his fellowman, and he will compass sea and land to 
wring the last cent possible. She started on her search 
in good spirits. Her first surprise was at the astound- 
ing prices with which they confronted her ; eight, nine, 
ten, and up to twenty dollars a load they asked, with 
the most unblushing effrontery. At this rate, it would 
take all she had to live on for six months to get into her 
new house. At last a happy chance, as she thought, 
conducted her to the stand of Paddy O'Kourke, who, 
after some haggling, agreed to "do the job" at five 
dollars a load. 

" Have you a large wagon ? " asked Mrs. Lightlace. 

" Indade, an' I have that same, mum." 

' 4 And two strong horses ? ' ' 

"Why, surely, mum; two as foine bastes as you iver 
set your two eyes on." 

"And you'll be very careful ? " 



WORDLESS POEMS. 189 

"Yis, mum; you may thrust Paddy O'Rourke iny 
day in the year. I refar you to Mr. Dinnis Mulligan, 
av Brooklyn, an' Mr. O'Shaunesay, av Jarsey City; 
they'll till you that it's mesel' is the bye that does the 
fair thing. The saints forgi'e me if I chate a widdy 
woman, an' a lady at that! " 

So the engagement was made. And after Mrs. Light- 
lace had charged him to be sure and be on time, at ten 
o'clock, and Paddy had called down anathemas on his 
head if he should be ' ' the twintieth pace av half a 
sicund out av the hour, ' ' the lady returned home with 
a light heart. In her enthusiasm she said to Alice : u I 
do like the Irish ; they are so full of heart ! Now that 
poor, rough fellow, only think of his taking notice of 
my weeds ! His manner was really — well, yes, it was 
really tender. ' ' And Mrs. Lightlace wiped away another 
tribute to the late Mr. Lightlace. 

May morning dawned bright and propitious. Mrs. 
Lightlace said she felt as if fortune w T as smiling, and the 
spirit of the ' ' dear departed was hovering over her. ' ' 
Alice and she rose with the dawn and finished the pack- 
ing of the last articles in the midst of the comfortless- 
ness of bare, uncarpeted rooms ; for, with commendable 
judgment, the carpets had all been put down in the other 
house, ready for the furniture to be moved upon them. 
Ten o'clock came, but no Paddy; eleven, twelve, one, 
two, and still no Paddy. Mrs. Lightlace developed first 



190 PANTOMIMES; OR 

restlessness, then uneasiness, then perplexity, then indig- 
nation ; and finally, in the midst of the direst wrath, a 
small one-horse wagon drove up to the door, and out of 
it leaped the delinquent Paddy. 

' ' Goodness gracious ! ' ' exclaimed Mrs. Lightlace. 

' ' Gracious goodness ! ' ' chorused Alice ; while faith- 
ful black Nancy grumbled : 

" Dat's what comes ob trussin' de Irisher. " 

Paddy made his appearance in the midst of the indig- 
nant crowd with his rubicund nose more rubicund than 
ever. 

u Is this ten o'clock by your watch?" asked Mrs. 
Lightlace, with bitter irony. 

" Indade, thin, missus, an' it's not mesel's to blame. 
Sure an' it wriz the ; leddy what lives on Tinth Avenue 
beyant Fartith Street. I Wuz ingaged to move her 
at sivin; an' she tauld me she had one load, an' a 
small wan at that ; an', be jabers, it tarned oot to be 
three. ' ' 

' ' Perhaps you told her, as 'you did me, that you had 
a large-sized furniture wagon and two fine horses, ' ' said 
Mrs. Lightlace, with a cold tone, and a glance which 
sparkled with wrath toward the wagon and the tired 
horse that was standing on two legs and resting on the 
other two. 

"Faith, mum," said Paddy, "an' isn't it the foinest 
wagon in the city, the strongest an' the roomiest fur the 



WORDLESS POEMS. 191 

size ? An' sure an' I tauld ye no lie about the horses 
naither, fur didn't wan av 'em toomble down dead in 
the stall no later thin last noight ? An' wasn't I oot this 
marnin' be the break av day to hire anither? An' isn't 
ivery hide av 'em busy? Sure, mum, it's the truth I'm 
tellin' you this blissid day ; the horse you see there is aquel 
to anny tin animals you iver see. He's got the sperret 
in him av a divil, mum, an' will wark from marnin' to 
noight widout iver axin fur rist. I wouldn't take foive 
hunderd dollars fur him. A valable animal he is, mum. 
But you mustn't be afther kapin' me waitin', av you 
plase, mum. I'm sorry to hurry you, but I've got 
three people a-cursin' me in as miny differint places 
now." 

What was the lady to do ? She was obliged to move ; 
she knew that it would be impossible to get another 
wagon now ; so, with tears in her eyes and bitter anger 
in her heart, she let Paddy and his wild Irishmen in 
among her cherished treasures, sending Alice and Nancy 
to the other house to receive them. 

Is there any sufferer who has passed through this trial, 
with inefficient workmen, who cannot supply a descrip- 
tion of what followed ? Mrs. Lightlace looked on with 
compressed lips, as one after another of her -cherished 
treasures was battered and badgered, Paddy sealing her 
lips by his voluble complaints. 

' ' Sure an it's a shame that I didn't know all I wuz in 



192 PANTOMIMES; OR 

fur. I wudden'thev ondertook the job av a saint undher 
tin dollars a load. Stiddy, byes ! stiddy. Lift a little 
higher. Och, ye'll ruinate the farnichure av ye're not 
keerful. Hould on, Tim, what do ye mane be bein' so 
rackless ? I know the farnichure is sinful hivvy, curses 
on the man that made it; he desarves burnin' in a place 
which I won't mintion in the prisence av a lady. Bedad, 
Dinnis, you'll toomble the sofy over the banisters av ye're 
not more keerful! An' as shure as ye do, it's mesel' 
that will toomble ye afther it. Marcy on us ! look at 
the plasther that ye've brought down at that stroke! — 
enough to plasther iny house ye'll iver own. It's the 
truth, mum; av I niver spake anither ward, it's a far- 
chunit leddy ye are this day to make the ingageinint wid 
me. There's not anither man in the three kingdoms, 
lit alone Amerikey, that wudden't break ivery shingle 
av your big farnichure into small bits, an' I a-movin' av 
it at the starvation price av foive dollars a load, an' a 
leetle extra fur trates fur the poor min that are ruinin' 
thimselves in your sarvis. ' ' 

Poor Mrs. Lightlace ! where was the spirit that was 
to support her in the battle of life ? In the dust, at the 
feet of Paddy O'Rourke. Vainly she struggled against 
the insane conviction — that offspring of Paddy's ora- 
tory — that she was under obligations to him. What 
matter that she recalled the burning wrongs she had 
suffered at his hands ? Her woman's nature felt a per- 



WORDLESS POEMS. 193 

sonal responsibility in the weight of the furniture, and 
every drop of perspiration which trickled down the faces 
of the laboring men made a furrow in her heart. She 
fairly quailed when she thought of her large-sized Hale & 
Kilburn folding-bed, with its heavy weights. Up to 
this time it had been a great pride with her. She had 
paid one hundred dollars for it ; at this moment anyone 
could have purchased it at twenty. 

Load after load went off; Mrs. Lightlace, counting 
them up at five dollars each, trembled at the sum. The 
poor tired horse stood on two legs whenever it was pos- 
sible, and bore up with superhuman endurance. The 
men groaned and sweated, and curses both loud and deep 
smote the ears of the wretched Mrs. Lightlace. At 
length the torture neared a conclusion, and in doing so 
approached its climax, which was the folding-bed. Mrs. 
Lightlace had not exaggerated the gravity of the situa- 
tion. Paddy fairly raved. 

" Hale ! Kill ! Burn !" he read, with dramatic empha- 
sis. " Ay, it's joust what I'd do wid de invinters av I 
could lay hands on 'em, the murtherin' varmints. Surely, 
mum, ye'llnivergo to burthenin' your conshens wid the 
sin av axin' us to move sich a mountain as that widout 
exthra pay ? I sees it in yer face this blissid minnit that 
ye cudden't do it." 

Poor Mrs. Lightlace ! She was too worn out to con- 
tend, the sun was nearly down, and she was faint from 



194 PANTOMIMES; OB 

long fasting, so she promised a dollar more with very 
little delay. 

" An' shure, mum, it's the coostum to secure me pay 
befure the last load is delivered, ' ' said the mendacious 
Paddy. 

Mrs. Lightlace looked her astonishment, but was swept 
away by a torrent of energetic oratory from her tor- 
mentor ; so she yielded the point again for the sake of 
peace, paid him, and promised to meet him at the new 
home, which was only a few blocks away. 

When she reached this goal of her hopes, she found 
everything in quite a settled state, and she gathered 
' ' heart of grace' ' as she drank the cup of tea which 
Alice had ready. It gave her time to put herself right 
upon her real status with Paddy, and without his elo- 
quence to counteract the result of her reflections, she, 
more and more indignant over his conduct, had just 
reached a climax, when his voice at the door, announ- 
cing that his work was done, except a few articles which 
the u byes " were "fitchm" up," inspired her with a 
great desire to give him, what the ladies are wont to style 
"a piece of my mind." Paddy forestalled her, how- 
ever. 

"An' shure, mum," he said, bowing low; " ye' 11 
stand trate fur me an' the byes; a dollar will be 
chape. ' ' 

' ' No, I will not ! Not one cent more will I give 



WORDLESS POEMS. 195 

you. You've cheated me, you've broken my things, 
and I have already paid you far more than you deserve. 
Now go, and never let me see you again ! ' ' 

Paddy looked astonished at her unexpected energy, 
but he did not " go " ; instead, he answered in a tone 
more of sorrow than of anger : "Ye won't stand trate, 
won't ye, mum? It's the right we allers claims, an' 
the byes won't bring up the weights fur the big stand- 
in' -up bed till ye gives us our rights. The saints for- 
gi'e me if I lets mesel' be imposed on becase I'm a 
poor man. Good-evenin', mum; a plisint noight to ye. 
Whin ye foind yersel' ready to gie me the dollar, I'll 
fitch yer weights; ye' 11 foind me at me sthand." And 
away went Paddy, and before Mrs. Lightlace recovered 
from the shock, Nancy rushed in to say that the wagon 
had gone off with some of the things in it. 

If Mrs. Lightlace had been wise, she would have 
sent for Brother James to help her out of her embar- 
rassment ; but she could not make up her mind to sacri- 
fice her reputation for independence and strength of 
character ; she would win the battle herself. It was 
too late to take any steps that evening, but in the morn- 
ing she would " have that wretch arrested, as sure as I 
am born." As nothing had been surer than that fact 
for more years than Mrs. Lightlace would care to ac- 
knowledge, we need not be surprised that the morning 
found her with no diminution of her determination. 



196 PANTOMIMES; OR 

She took a seat at the breakfast table, and ordered 
Nancy to summon a policeman ; and that official pre- 
senting himself, she informed him that she wished him 
to arrest Paddy O'Rourke at once. She was somewhat 
dismayed by the intelligence that she would have to ob- 
tain a warrant at the police court before that could be 
done. But even this news did not alter her determina- 
tion. At ten o'clock she sallied forth. 

Mrs. Lightlace, it must be confessed, felt a quicken- 
ing of her heart- beats as with nagging footsteps she 
mounted the steps leading into the court of justice. If 
she had not had a character to sustain she would have 
turned back then and there; but as that could not be, 
she confided her trouble to the tall policeman at the 
door. It was reassuring to mark his indignation at the 
recital. " The villain ! " he exclaimed; "he will get 
six months sure. Just you go in, ma'am, and sit down 
till your time comes; then go up and tell the judge all 
about it, and he will have it all right in a minute. ' ' 

While he had been speaking, our heroine had been 
looking past the speaker into the untried field upon 
which she was about to enter. It was a strange sight 
to her inexperienced eyes — the immense hall filled 
with a motley crowd of black, white, and yellow men, 
women, and children, culminating in the judge's plat- 
form at the farther end, where he now sat administer- 



WORDLESS POEMS. 197 

ing justice by the wholesale. About the judge were 
grouped men who were writing at tables., 

' ' Keporters ! ' ' exclaimed Mrs. Lightlace, as a recol- 
lection darted into her brain of numerous paragraphs 
in which these gentlemen of the quill had entertained 
the public with dramatic scenes from the police court. 
" Only suppose they should make an item of me and 
Paddy O'Rourke." 

The policeman assured her that there was no danger, 
and she at last got up courage enough to follow his in- 
structions and seek a seat. Tremblingly she advanced 
down the middle aisle, looking right and left for a 
vacancy. When near the front she was arrested by the 
voice of the judge, who exclaimed with startling severity, 
"But, madam, you are drunk." 

Her dismay at hearing such an accusation, even when 
addressed to another, the novelty of her surroundings, 
the perplexity of her position, bewildered our adven- 
turer to such an extent that she neglected to take heed 
to her ways. She did not see that she was on the brink 
of a step, and the next moment fell forward headlong, 
prostrate before the assembled court. In her mortifica- 
tion she would fain have lain there forever ; and it did 
not console her anguish to hear a voice from the re- 
porters' tables say : ; ' Another drunk, evidently. Re- 
spectable, middle-aged woman in widows' weeds. A 
terrible example of the increase — ' ' 



198 PANTOMIMES; OB 

Just here she felt her arm pulled, and raising her 
head, found a bloated woman tugging energetically at 
her arm, as if anticipating some difficulty in getting her 
upon her feet. The dreadful suspicion conveyed by this 
intimation, the ' ' hail-fellow-well-met ' ' expression upon 
the coarse features of her assistant, brought Mrs. Light- 
lace to her feet in a second. Vainly she tried to shake 
oif her companion. She held her as in a vise, and 
whispered, audibly: " Never mind, hinny ; hould on 
to me ; sich akserdunts will happen. I fell joust here 
meself six months ago, and got off with ten days. ' ' 

The judge never interviewed Mrs. Lightlace ; Paddy 
O'Rourke was never arrested by that lady. The tall 
officer at the door had a vision of a female flitting past 
him ; and little Alice, watching, saw her mother rush 
down the steps as if she had lost her senses. Flying to 
meet her, she cried : ' ' Mamma, what can have hap- 
pened ? Oh, what can it be ? " 

" Don't ask me, my child. Oh, that dreadful place! 
Your poor mother is disgraced for life. Go at once, 
Alice — go at once to that wretch, Paddy O'Rourke. 
Pay him all he asks. What is money to such troubles 
as these ? ' ' 

The Herald of the following morning sported an 
interesting item, which was read by Mrs. Lightlace at 
breakfast: "A respectable-looking, middle-aged woman 



WORDLESS POEMS. 199 

in widows' weeds fell , in the Jefferson Market Police 
Court yesterday in a state of beastly intoxication. She 
was assisted to her feet by another female scarcely better 
off. The shock seemed to restore her reason ; she rushed 
from the building before anyone could stop her. We 
could not learn her name. ' ' 



e ^fHP r ' e 



200 PANTOMIMES; OR 



KASSEKBANKEK. 



[The drollery of the following selection depends upon the re- 
citer putting himself in the place of the child. Do not attempt 
too much. Let nature have her full sway ; think how you would 
have felt at seven years old when overcome by an audience. A 
lisping tongue helps to make your boy young. Make awkward 
gestures. When a right word is whispered to him, let him speak 
out loud ; when again overwhelmed, his voice sinks away, his 
eyes stare into vacancy, he rubs his eyes, puts his fingers in his 
mouth, looks over his shoulder. But do not exaggerate or pro- 
long it too much. " Brevity is the soul of wit," and all humor- 
ous stories are better for being short. I have put a few sugges- 
tions through the piece. It is extremely effective if well ren- 
dered.] 

I HA YE a little friend who rejoices in the name of Mrs. 
Smith. She is the happy possessor of half a dozen 
children, and is firmly convinced, mother-like, that no 
mother ever had such remarkable progeny. Each one, 
in her opinion, is an extraordinary genius, and she never 
gets over her astonishment that she, Mrs. John Smith, 
Mary Jones that was, should have produced such a 
wonderful variety of talent. One curious point about it 
is, that she is entirely ignorant of any undue partiality 
on her part. She thinks herself a stern critic of these 
same children, unduly severe in her judgment of them. 
She said to me one day, not long ago : 

" Now, my dear friend, I have a favor to ask of you, 
a very great favor. ' ' 

"Well, dear, it is granted before asked. What is it?" 



WORDLESS POEMS, 201 

' ' I want you to go with me to the school exhibition 
to hear my Johnny recite ' Casabianca. ' I know these 
things are often bores, yet I do think that you will be 
repaid in this instance ; that child has a most extra- 
ordinary talent for oratory. Now you have known me 
too long to think, for an instant, that I say this because he 
is my child ; that very fact makes me more keenly alive 
to any failing. Nobody can beat me in finding a defect in 
my children, but this little fellow (you know he's only 
seven years old) has, from the time he could speak plain, 
shown this extraordinary talent for oratory. He knows 
his piece perfectly, and my only fear for him is an 
excess of sensibility ; for as he describes the scene of 
poor young Casabianca' s death, he becomes so wrought 
up by his emotions that he sometimes breaks down from 
very anguish. I have talked to him about it and told 
him how much depends upon exercising control over his 
emotions, and I think that he feels the necessity fully. 
I hope that he will not be overcome at the critical 
moment. That is my only fear for him. ' ' 

I went with Mrs. Smith to hear Johnny's oratorical 
effort, and will try to give you some idea of it ; but it is 
at best a difficult task, unless by some magic I could 
transform myself into a fat little boy with rosy cheeks 
and shining black hair and round black eyes, who, at 
first sight of his audience, loses all his self-possession and 
never recovers it. 



202 PANTOMIMES; OR 

[Here the imitator of Johnny must come forward a few steps, 
then draw back with signs of dire confusion, raising his shoul- 
ders in childish fashion, looking helplessly around for assistance. 
At last he finds voice and says in lispingly childish tones, but 
rather loudly, the first effort:] 

" The burnin' boy stood on the 

The bo j stood burnin' on the 



[Some kind friend suggests the proper beginning.] 
The — boy — stood — on the — burnin' deck, 

The boy stood on the burnin' deck 

Whence all had gone but him 

Whence all had gone but him 

But he stood beautiful, just as he was born to rule 
The storm, a creature of blood and form. 

" He wouldn't go 'thout his father said so, 

The old man was lain' dead downstairs, and couldn't 

Say nothin' 't all. 

He said, ' Father, urns' I go ? ' 

Old man didn't say nothin' 't all. 

He said, ' Father mils' I stay ? ' 

Old man didn't have nothin' to say. 

' ' The flames rolled on, rolled on 



The flames rolled on [dire confusion] 

I know — they — rolled on [in depressed tones'] 

They rolled on. 

There come a buss of thunder sound, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 



203 



The bo j, oli, where was he 

The boy, oh, where was he ? 

[Here Johnny, completely overcome by confusion and sensi- 
tiveness combined, digs his fists in his eyes and sobs out :] 

" He was all blowed to pieces, an' I can't say no more." 
Mrs. Smith admitted that Johnny was a little con- 
fused, but said that his sensibility was all there. 



^st 




204 ' PANTOMIMES; OR 



ELOPEMENT IS SEVENTY-FIVE. 



THE STORY HER GREAT-GRANDCHILD TOLD. 



MORE than a century gone, to-day, 
Great-grandmamma Baldwin ran away. 
Great-great-grandfather rose with a frown : 
Something unpleasant he'd heard in town 
That day had angered his powdered head. 
He was a Tory, the neighbor's said — 
Believed in the right divine of kings, 
The Stamp Act, and other ridiculous things 
'Gainst which the general discontent 
Which had arisen of late found vent 
In widespread rumors of imminent war. 
The old man, scowling, in accents far 
From mild, said, suddenly : "Margery, hark! 
I hear Jack Baldwin, the wild young spark 
Who has dangled of late at your apron-string, 
Will join these rebels against the King, 
Who are plotting now, and will soon unfurl 
Their traitorous banner. Hark ye, girl ! 
Sooner than see my daughter wed 
With a rebel, I'd see her lying dead. 
Whatever has gone, let it be forgot, 
And pass him as if you saw him not 



WORDLESS POEMS. 305 

When next you meet in the street. ' Od zounds ! 

On all sides now this sedition sounds ! 

I'll have no speech with traitors who brave 

His sacred Majesty's might. God save 

The King ! The troops down Boston way 

Will have work for their hands some fine spring day. ' ' 

Margery's cheek turned white and red, 

As she courtesied low with a drooping head ; 

And her heart was thumping in rapid beats, 

That rustled the closely written sheets 

Of a letter that nestled within 

Her snowy 'kerchief of cambric thin. 

' l Sweetheart Margery ! " so it began ; 

Never mind how the rest of it ran ! 

Plenty of raptures and fulsome praise, 

Passionate pleading in stilted phrase, 

As the fashion was — but the vows, you know, 

Were not for us, so we'll let them go, 

And come to a sentence or two that were penned, 

In bold, free characters, close to the end. 

ct Eleven o'clock, at the garden gate, 

With Firefly saddled, sweet, I'll wait. 

Oh! if you love me" — (Here some more 

Vows and raptures we'll just skip o'er) 

ww Sixteen miles into Middlebrook town, 

At Sister Charity's lighting down, 

We'll find them waiting, however late, 



206 PANTOMIMES; OR 

With the parson ready to join our fate 
In the bond no father on earth can sever. 
Love, if you love me, come ! Forever 
Your own Jack Baldwin." 

Well, as I said, 
Margery hung her blushing head 
At the sound of her father's stern command, 
And courtesied, though she could hardly stand; 
Then sad and silent and sick at heart, 
To her own little chamber stole apart. 
Forth from its hiding-place she drew 
The letter, and read it through and through; 
Then with a colorless, wistful face 
Sat eagerly gazing away into space 
Through wondering, frightened eyes. Below, 
She heard the hurrying footsteps, go ; 
The noisy closing of shutter and door, 
The clattering stride o'er the oaken floor. 
The old stair creaked 'neath the heavy tread, 
As the latest laggard passed to bed. 
Then all was silent ; the household slept, 
And lonely the maiden her vigil kept. 
Thrilled and tilled with longing and dread, 
She thought of the day when her mother said 
(She blushed the while with a conscious pride) : 
' 4 No honester youth in the countryside 
She could find for a girl to wed, than Jack;" 



WORDLESS POEMS. 207 

And minded how, only a few months back, 

Her father had smiled when her lover came, 

With his hasty stride and his cheek on flame, 

Up the garden-walk. Oh, how could she fling 

Her lover aside ! Yet an awful thing 

Is a father's curse for a daughter to brave. 

What if at last she sank to her grave 

Still unforgiven ? All this and more 

The damsel pondered o'er and o'er; 

One minute faint with a wild despair, 

And ready the next to do and dare 

All for her love. And so — and so — 

The end of the struggle, of course, you know ; 

E'en while she wavered her fingers flew, 

Nimble and deft, to their office true, 

Till she stood by the oval mirror, dressed 

From head to foot in her Sunday best. 

Stiff white damask with flowers of gold, 

Falling in many a stately fold, 

With rich old laces at arm and throat ; 

Wide open in front o'er a petticoat 

Of pale blue satin, quilted in fine 

Crisscrosses, and 'broidered with leaf and vine. 

Quaint little slippers, with tall, red heels, 

And burnished buckle, that half conceals 

The open- worked stocking with scarlet clocks. 

Perched on the top of her powdered locks, 



208 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Which, piled over lofty cushions, grew 

Into a structure grand to view, 

Sat the most coquettish, dangerous cap 

That e'er caused a lover's heart to rap 

Against an embroidered waistcoat. Xigh 

To the pouting red lips — Oh, lie! oh, fie! — 

Rested the most provoking patch 

That ever tempted a man to snatch 

A kiss from a rounded, glowing cheek, 

Where the roguish dimples play hide-and-seek. 

Gloves that reached to the elbow quite, 

Woven of silk, and so line and slight 

The two might be drawn through a wedding-ring, 

To the plump arms clung ; and loving to cling 

To a slender neck, as white as the snow, 

Was a necklace — only a single row 

Of bright gold beads, held back and tied 

With white love-ribbon a half inch wide. 

Solemn and slow the moments pass, 

As Margery stares at herself in the glass, 

Looks and listens. 

The great hall clock 
Is striking eleven ! A sudden shock 
Of terror runs through her quaking heart. 
Another, too, waiting there apart — 
Waiting and glancing over the edge 
Of the garden's thickset, thorny hedge, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 209 

Hearkens the old clock's steady stroke : 
A stalwart form in a horseman's cloak — 
Handsome Jack, with his winsome face, 
White almost as his ruffles of lace, 
With the struggle sore of hope and despair, 
That has rent his heart in his vigil there. 
Hist ! a step on the garden walk ! 
Is it a vision that comes to mock 
His whirling senses ? A figure dim, 
Cloaked and hooded, steals out to him, 
Trembling. ' ' God be praised ! 
Margery, darling! — at last! at last! " 
One forward stride, and he holds her fast, 
Close to his heart, and the fond lips meet 
Once more, in a love-kiss long and sweet. 

Quick to the saddle the gallant springs, 
Light to the pillion behind he swings 
The pale-faced maiden ; and then the hush 
Of the silence gives place to the rapid rush 
Of beating hoofs ; they are off and away ! 

Well, of course, on the following day, 
When the old man Curzon woke at dawn, 
To find his daughter Margery gone, 
There was a scene. For a day and a year, 
They say, the old man never would hear 
The runaway's name. But at last he, too, 



210 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Behaved as a sensible parent should do — 
Forgot and forgave. 

So when the first sound of Concord's gun 
Told that the battle had truly begun — 
The long, sore battle for freedom and right — 
Jack inarched away to the thick of the fight, 
With Margery's kiss on his lips. And she 
Through the long, dark days sat patiently — 
Like many another matron and maid — 
Waiting at home, and worked and prayed 
Till Jack came back, and the old " king's arm " 
Was hung o'er the chimney-shelf, safe from harm 
And the old regimentals, tattered enough — 
The worn Continental blue -and- buff — 
He hung away, with a spasm of pride, 
With his sword and bayonet close beside ; 
And donning the suit he had worn before, 
Went back to his everyday work once more. 
For the struggle was over, the war was done, 
And the freedom we hold to-day was won ; 
And Jack and Margery settled down, 
The happiest couple in all the town. 

One lesson learned from them, good to-day: 
They are not all cowards who run away ; 
And the one elopement that no one harms, 
Is that of true love to faithful arms. 



WORDLESS POEMS 211 



THE WOKDEKFUL ECONOMY OF A WIFE. 



T KETUKKED from the funeral of the lamented Mrs. 
-1 Peacock in the same carriage with the bereaved 
widower, who thus lamented his loss : 

"A-h-h-h-h-h! In some respects that woman that 
we've just laid out there in that graveyard was the 
most remarkable woman that ever lived or died. 
A-h-h-h-h-h! 

' ' As a saving and economical wife she never had 
her equal. Why, I've known her to take an old pair 
of worn-out pants of mine and make out of them a 
brand-new suit of clothes for each of the boys, besides a 
coat for Johnny and a cap for the baby. And then 
she made pocket-handkerchiefs out of the linings. 
Why, I believe she could have made a brand-new over- 
coat out of an old pair of socks. There's a shirt of 
mine now that's been doing duty around the world for 
five or six years as pantalets and pillow-cases, and such 
things. A-h-h-h-h-h ! 

" It was just a year ago last first day of July when 
our old gridiron gave out, and it wasn't no time 'fore 
Mary Jane had it rigged up at the side of the house as 
fine a lightning-rod as you ever saw, and then she saved 
enough of what was left to make an ice-pick. Why, I 
knew her once to make sixteen princely chicken -coops 



212 PANTOMIMES; OR 

out of her old hoop-skirts, and she used to cut all 
the buttons for the boys' clothes out of the ham bones. 
A-h-h-h-h-h ! 

"How well I remember the day our old cat died, 
for the very next day Mary Jane came out in a beauti- 
ful set of furs, and — she — never — forgot me ; the same 
day I found my favorite mince pies on the table. Why, 
she made a feather bed and a pair of pillows out of the 
feathers of one small rooster ! She had a way of dress- 
ing up potato parings so you couldn't tell them from 
canvas-back ducks, and when we were building the 
addition to our house, she used to fix up the sawdust 
so the pigs would eat it, and fatten on it, too. Why, 
I believe she could have built a house out of a few 
deal boards, or a steamboat out of a wash boiler. 
A-h-h-h-h-h ! 

"Willi ever forget her last words! Just as the 
breath was going out of her body, in her dear, failing 
voice, she said : ' Bury me in the garden, where I can 
keep on doing my duty, a-helping to shove up the 
cabbages ! ' A-h-h-h-h-h ! I'll never see her like 
again ! ' ' 

I don't think he ever will, but I am obliged to record 
that he tried before six months were over. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 313 



FAIEY HILL. 



COL. ST. GEORGE TUCKER. 



[This little metrical drama was written in 1781, by Col. St. 
George Tucker, afterward Judge Tucker, who fought in the bat- 
tles of the Revolutionary war. He left a manuscript book of 
poems, written during those stirring times, from which, I, his 
great-granddaughter, have ventured to cull one or two. A 
voice from the past may serve to awaken or at least to keep 
alive the patriotism which once burned so brightly in the hearts 
of those who won for us our 'present freedom, and with whose 
blood were purchased our present prosperity and happiness. 

Col. Tucker prefaces the poem with this explanation : 

' ' I was traveling from Bizarre to Fredericksburg in a single 
chair. A letter Just received from Mrs. Bland, the wife of my 
brother-in-law, Col. Bland, then a member of Congress, gave rise 
to the poem. I quote an extract from it: 

" 'Yesterday we left the noise and smoke of the city [Phila- 
delphia] and took possession of this country seat, the seat of the 
fairies. I shall expect a poem addressed to the Queen of that 
little race. It is four miles from Philadelphia, on the banks of 
the Skuylkill. It is delightfully situated amid scenes of every 
disposition. It is called Fairy Hill. ' A very applicable name ! 
I shall expect to see fairies dance on the grass by moonlight."— 
M. T. M.] 

Dramatis Personm. 

Oberon, King of the Fairies . 

1st Fairy. 

2nd Fairy. 

3rd Fairy. 

Puck, otherwise known as Robin Goodfellow, 



214 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Recitative. 

WHEN winter's storms began to disappear, 
And spring with blossoms had perfumed the 
year; 
When round the verdant mead the woodbine blows, 
And murmuring Skuylkill on the margin Hows; 
While Cynthia's silver orb diffused its light 
And Philomela cheers the silent night ; 
In troops descending, midnight elves were seen, 
In various sports upon the enameled green. 

{Enter Puck.] 

Puck. From the mountains of the West, 
Where the sun retires to rest, 
Beyond the savage Indians' ken, 
Or rugged Bruin's wintry den; 
Where Mississippi hides its head, 
And mortal footsteps never tread, 
The midnight elves and fairy train 
Seek again the verdant plain ; 
Through the darkling, misty air 
To their wonted haunts repair. 

[Sings. ] 

Hither haste, ye banished sprites ! 

Haste and join the festive throng, 
Share our midnight sylvan rites, 

Join our dance and rural song. 



WORDLESS POEMS. 215 

No unhallowed footsteps here 
Shall profane the sacred green ; 

ISTo dusky gnome shall taint the air, 
Here no satyr shall be seen. 

Truth and beauty, peace and love 
Are the guardians of the grove. 

[Enter Fairies dancing and singing.'] 

1st Fairy [sings or recites]. When the sultry sun is set, 
When the grass with dew is wet, 
When the moon's full orb is seen, 
And the stars around their Queen 
Twinkling had a fainter light, 
When the meteor mocks the signt,— 

[Fairies in chorus.] 

Elves and fairies, in a ring, 
'Round the maypole dance and sing. 

2nd Fairy [sings or recites]. Where the purple violet 
grows, 
Where the fragrant woodbine blows, 
Where the humble hairbell creeps, 
Where the painted daisy peeps, 
On the dew besprinkled lawn, 
E'er the peep of early dawn, — 



216 PANTOMIMES; OB 

[Chorus.] 

Elves and fairies, in a ring, 
'Round the maypole dance and sing. 

3rd Fairy [sings or recites]. When the lily scents the 
morn, 
When the rose bedecks the thorn, 
When the honeysuckle blooms, 
Shedding 'round its rich perfumes, 
When the bending willows weep 
On the margin of the deep, — 

[Chorus] 

Elves and fairies, in a ring, 
'Round the maypole dance and sing. 

Trio of Fairies. When the midnight bell has tolled, 
When the wolf besets the. fold, 
When the fox the henroost gains, 
When the whippoorwill complains, 
When the wind thro' forest yells, 
And when ghosts desert their cells, — 

[Chorus.] 

Elves and fairies, in a ring, 
'Round Jie maypole dance and sing. 

Oberon. Ere proud Britannia from the briny wave 
Her head upraised the nations to enslave, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 217 

Ere fell Ambition had unveiled her face, 
Or hellish Discord curst the human race, 
The fairies, prompted by the sylvan scene, 
Their seat had chosen on this mossy green; 
Were wont their midnight revels here to pass, 
In sportive gambols on the silky grass. 
But when on Skuylkill's banks the battle 

brayed, 
The frightened elfins fled the blissful glade ; 
Amidst the din of war their favorite spot 
With all their wonted vigils was forgot. 

[Chorus of Fairies.] 

Ill fated day ! when Britain's tyrant hand 
Was raised to spread oppression through the 

land. 
When ruin and murder threatened from afar, 
And desolation marked the rage of war. 
Then elves and fairies left their chosen seat, 
And sought in dreary wilds a safe retreat. 

Oberon. Gallia heard the sounds of war ; 

From Albion's cliffs the din arose. 
" Haste! " she cried, "your arms prepare, 
Haste to meet your ancient foes ! ' ' 

The tempest passed innoxious by ; 
Columbia felt its ruthless force. 



218 PANTOMIMES; OR 

Her dauntless sons the storm defy, 

Her godlike chieftain stopped its course! 

\Gra/nd, chorus.] 

Auspicious day ! when Freedom nerved their hands, 
And sacred Friendship knit the mutual bands, 
Songs of triumph tilled the air ; 
Britain listened with despair; 
Fame proclaimed the cause. 
Hark ! the sons of Freedom sing, 
Praises of their patriot king, 
While Heaven's vast concourse echoed with 
applause. 
Puck [sings or recites]. Now the drum is heard no 
longer, 
Nor the appalling cannon's roar; 
Sacred Freedom's arm is stronger, 
Peace is won from shore to shore. 

Obeeox. Now the clarion trump of Fame, 
Joyful tidings doth proclaim. 
Catch the iiotes which float around, 
Echo back the joyful sound : 
' ' Peace is won from shore to shore ! ' ' 

[Chorus, in which all Faieies join.] 

Since Tyranny's banished this happy domain, 
And war with its terrors has quitted the plain, 



WORDLESS POEMS. 219 

Gentle Peace far and wide shall her banners display, 
And Liberty heighten the joys of each day. 
While the trumpet proclaims the glad tidings around, 
Let the mountains and valleys re-echo the sound, 

That America's free! Let each heart and each voice 

In unison shout and in concert rejoice. 

For virtue revered and for wisdom renowned, 

May her States still with freedom and glory be crowned. 

May their union be stronger cemented each year, 

And dissentio ;s of old ne'er the future impair. 

Puck. Hark ! the cock salutes the morn. 

Hark ! the huntsman winds his horn. 
See ! the lovely moon grows pale, 
Breath of morning taints the gale. 

[ Chorus. ] 

'Round the maypole, in a ring, 
Cease we now to dance and sing. 
[Fairies vanish, dancing and singing.] 



220 PANTOMIMES; OR 



AUNT MEKRANDY. 



MARY TUCKER MAGILL. 



[By permission of Bacheller Syndicate.] 

TO one who remembers the negro of the past in all 
his inimitable individuality, the negro of the 
present, with his cultivation and " white-folk" man- 
ners, is a matter of regret. Not that one would stop 
the march of progress or have him back again as he was 
for our amusement. But still fond memory brings him 
to us as he was, a perfectly unique character and not an 
imitator of any person or people, and we regret him; 
we mourn him as Ave do a friend in his grave, even 
though we feel he is far better off. 

But while it is still not a very rare occurrence to 
meet with a good old-time darky in the South, it is 
hardly to be expected that New York should present to 
us an old Virginia negro, lingo and all complete, an 
imaginative, story-telling darky, whose narrations are 
not limited by possibility and whose confidence in your 
credulity is boundless. It was my privilege to find one 
of the rarest specimens of this class in one of the 
numerous parks with which New York abounds. She 
was seated on a bench, a little apart from the nonde- 
script herd of idlers who throng the seats, the most con- 



WORDLESS POEMS. 221 

spicuous object in the place. She might have been any 
age from 50 to 70, and like many another of her sex, 
she seemed anxious to recall past charms by especial at- 
tention to her attire, which in its variety and brilliancy 
of coloring resembled the plumage of a tropical bird. 
Let me draw her picture, as she stands unfaded in my 
mind's eye: Her amply flounced and furbelowed dress 
of light blue had, perhaps in the past, been the pride 
of some successful modiste, but the hand of time and 
the soil of various contacts had marred its comeliness 
and obscured without obliterating the complexion of 
its showy white trimming. The upper section of her 
ample proportions was enveloped in a shawl of as many 
colors as Joseph's coat; there was a general predomi- 
nance of orange, however, which made it a very pic- 
turesque drapery ; a pair of royal purple gloves, some- 
what the worse for wear, still clung to her hands and 
served to lend an appropriate hue to the rapidly develop- 
ing rainbow ; a bonnet which had once been red velvet 
adorned with black plumes, surmounted the whole. My 
muse here makes a rapid leap from her head to her feet, 
which were of ample proportions, with the characteristic 
" long heel," and were incased in what must have once 
been fine prunella boots, but a button hook was wanted 
to bring them into shape. Nay, more, buttons — nay, 
more, prunella, was scarcer than was at all desirable. 
These pedal extremities were filling the role of guardi- 



222 PANTOMIMES; OR 

ans over an immense bag or bundle upon which they 
were planted with an air of defiant protection. This 
bag, it may be conjectured, contained her surplus ward- 
robe, and oh ! the revelation of past glories a sight of 
its contents would have given ! It was this same bag 
which especially appealed to my sympathies in her be- 
half. 

As I approached her I discovered that she was munch- 
ing contentedly from a loaf of bread, which employ- 
ment gave her an unembarrassed ' ' at home ' ' air. 

She nodded familiarly to me when she found that I 
was steering toward her. I said : 

"Why are you here ? Have you no home ?" 

As soon as she could choke down enough of her dry 
bread to leave a passage for her voice, she answered, 
with the most unmistakable Virginia accent I ever 
heard : 

lfc Ko, mistis, t'ank de Lord, I ain' got no home 'cept 
right hyar. You see, dey won' take me in de color' d 
peoples 1 home 'case I'se a f urrener. " 

1 c Foreigner ! " I exclaimed. ' c You are from Vir- 
ginia, are you not ? " 

" Laws, no, mistis! Wat I doiir fum Furginny ? 
I'se fum Portoogal, I is, des as sho' as you is born. 
Wat mek you 'low I'se fum ole Furginny, mistis ? ~No- 
n-deed, I'se fum Portoogal." 

"Portugal," I said, thinking she meant some ob- 



WORDLESS POEMS. 223 

scure place in the South not down on the map ; ' i where 
is Portugal ? ' ' 

"Law, mistis, ain' you know dat ? 'Pears to me 
like you white folks wat goes to school all you life orter 
know wha' Portoogal lay. Portoogal is on de coas' ob 
de rock ob Giberaltar, mistis. ' ' 

' ' Pshaw ! " I exclaimed, ' ' you are not from that 
Portugal. ' ' 

"Yes I is, mistis, yes I is; I'se fum Portoogal on de 
coas' ob de rock ob Giberaltar sho' I'se a f us' -class 
cook, too, mistis, I is." 

"You went from this country to Portugal," I said, 
with a laudable desire to make the edges of this strange 
statement fit. 

"No-n-deed, mistis, I was borned dyar; I nebber 
kum to dis country 'till dis time." 

" And how did you learn to talk English ? " 

"Why, mistis, I wus 'bleeged fur to larn it, 'case, 
bein' a fus' -class cook, I couldn't git no place, d'out I 
could talk like 'em." 

' ' How did you get here ? " I asked, determined to 
lead her into a trap, if possible. 

"Why, mistis, ain' you hyar 'bout dat ? 'Pears t'me 
like eberybody mus' hyar tell 'bout dat. Set down, 
mistis, en lemme tell you how it all cum to pars : 

"Well, you see, mistis, I was 'lected schewdes on 
bode de boat dat wus name de ' Dorfin. ' I wus de cook, 



224 PANTOMIMES; OR 

en de washwoman, en de eberyt'ing else. It warn' no 
passinger boat, but dey wus as many as 200 sailors 
on bo'd it, en by de time I had dun all dey cookin' en 
brushin' en dey washin' en dey cleanin' up en all dat, I 
wus kep' purty busy, you see ; it wus ' Aunt Merrandy 
here,' en 'Aunt Merrandy dyar,' from mornin' till night. 
But I'se rael smart w'eu I gits started, I is ; en so I got 
'long purty well, consid'in', tell one day we had a 
awful shiprack, owin' to a big storm de Lord sent us, 
w'en de waves fyarly ris up tell dey wus as high as dat 
Steepler yonder, en w'en dey cum down, dem boys wus 
wet to dey skins, dey wus ; den nuttin' would do but 
Aunt Merrandy mus' git 'em dry close. At las' de 
shiprack cum, en all de 'visions gin out, tell dey had a 
fambine on bode. We 'sisted fur a few days on a dog 
en two cats en all de rats dey could ketch, en den mar- 
ters got wus en wus, tell it cum to pass dat de cap'n 
he up en say, hit warn' no use fur all dem men to 
starve to def. Hit dun kum to dat, dat som'body got 
to be 'voured by de res', en dey wus to drar lots who 't 
wus gwine to be, den eberybody say, ' dat's so,' en 
w'en it wus 'cided clat dey wus goin' to drar lots, dey 
wus a great trimlin' en a-quakin', en Aunt Merrandy 
trimled en quaked wid de res', but hit warn' no use, 
dem lots wus to be drared, en dey wus drarecl, en de lot 
hit des failed on Aunt Merrandy. Yes, mistis, dat's 
so. De nex' t'ing I knowed hyar wus dem 200 sailors 



WORDLESS POEMS. 225 

cumin' at me wid dey knifes drared as hongry as wolfs. 
Well, I backs, en I begs, en begs, but 'twarn' no use to 
was'e bref on beggin', kase dem men wus too hongry 
to lis'en to no po' old niggar a-pleadin' fur her lif w'en 
she got good meat on to her bones. I t'inks I wus gone 
sho', w'en des as I wus a-backin' todes de end ob de 
boat, de good Marster sont a plank des onder my feet, 
en w'en my foot knoc' 'gins it, den 'twarn' no time 
'fo' Aunt Merrandy had dat timber in her gras' en had 
lay out fifty ob dem hongry men on dat dec'. You see, 
mistis, I wus a-fightin' fur my lif, en I fit. Den, bress 
3 t o' sole, 'fo' dey could git on to dey feet, Aunt Merrandy 
had lep' overbode en wus sailin' away on dat bressid 
bode. Well, I sails along en I sails along, tell pre'erntly 
I sees de spires ob dis same New York, des whar we is 
now, en dat's de truf. Well, eberybody took to torkin' 
'bout dis here 'venchur, en dey wus inakin' a fuss ober 
dis chile, en de nex' t'ing a likely young niggar w'at 
wan' to git sum ob de tork on him 'swaded me to mar-e 
him. You know, mistis, 'omens is always fools w'en de 
mens cums 'roun'. En Aunt Merrandy wus des an- 
odder one, 'case she up en mar-e dat 'ceatful niggar, 
sho' as you is born, en des as soon as he fin' out dat 
dey ain' goin' to tork 'bout him, he up en 'sert me fur 
anodder 'oman, en dem two, dat 'oman en dat man, is 
'sum' me all ober dis town to kill me, en do I is a fus'- 
class cook, I kyan' git no place to cook, 'case dey saturates 



226 PANTOMIMES; OR 

all de places gins me, mistis. I went to no less den fo' 
hundred en fifty places las' Sat' day, en dey Lad been to 
'em all en saturate dem 'gins me, en obco'se dey won't 
tech me. ' ' 

" Where did you learn to cook ? " I asked. 

"Fum my ole mistis in Furginny, mistis." 

' ' I thought you were from Portugal, ' ' I exclaimed ; 
' ' you told me you were from Portugal. ' ' 

A look of embarrassment came over her face for an 
instant, but only for an instant. When she answered, 
her tone was as assured as ever : " Dat's de truf, mistis, 
but you see dis wus 'fo' dat. " 

' 'Before you were born?" I cried, with the tri- 
umphant smile of a detective when he scores a success 
and after many difficulties has bagged his game. 

"Law, mistis," and Aunt Merrandy's speaking coun- 
tenance expressed indulgent commiseration for ignorance 
and stupidity, " ain' you neber hyarn tell ob folks be- 
in' borned ag'in ? You see, I wus borned ag'in. You 
see, I fus' see de light in Afercer, my farder wus de 
king ob Afercer, en dis chile des lay 'roun' in de silks 
en de satins, en de gol' en de silber. Well, my nus 
she stole me en sole me to my ole marster, who had dun 
cum ober dyar to git a fus' -class, likely young niggar to 
train fur a cook. I hyarn tell dat he pay as much as a 
milyun ob dollars fur me, en I 'spec' 'tis so, 'cause he 
sot a power ob store by me. Well, he tuk me home en 



WORDLESS POEMS. 227 

my ole mistis she train me to be a f us' -class cook, hit 
jes' like I tell you, mistis, you kin 'pen' pun Aunt Mer- 
randy w'en you wants de fac' ob a t'ing. She nebber 
tells no story, sho' as you is born." 

While Aunt Merrandy had been making these most 
satisfactory explanations, she had risen from her seat, 
thrown the mysterious bundle over her shoulder, and 
with these last words commenced what looked like an 
ignominious flight. She covered her retreat with some 
grace, however, by a stream of words which she flung 
back at me as she mingled with the crowds and resisted 
my earnest efforts to continue the argument : 

"Dat's a fac', mistis, dat's de hole truf, you kin al- 
lars 'pen' pun Aunt Merrandy, she nebber tells no 
story. Sorry I cyan stay no longer dis mornin', but 
I'se got a degagemun'. Good mornin', mistis, good 
mornin'." 

And I saw her no more. 




NOTE. 

As music is indispensable for the successful rendering 
of these pantomimic poems, I have thought it best to 
publish a suitable arrangement for each. Thanks are 
due to Miss Ewer for her elaborate and skilful prepara- 
tion for the representation of ' ' Ginevra " which may be 
almost styled a pantomimic operetta. The entire set is 
published in a separate book and furnished to all wiio 
desire it for $1.00. Address, 

EDGAR S. WERNER, 



108 East 16th St. 



New York. 



(228) 



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Original illustrations. The cheapest (250 pages) Elocutionary Text- 
book published. Teachers' net price, 75 cents; 60 cents for class use, 
postpaid. Extremely liberal exchange price will be made for the books 
you are now using. 



Edgar S. Werner, Publisher, 108 E. 16th St., New York. 



Musically Accompanied Re citations ! 

The Reader does not Sing but recites the Piece in the Usual Way, while another Person 
Plays the Accompaniment on Piano or Organ, thus Lending the Power of Music to the 
Reader's Voice in Bringing Out the Effects of the Recitation. 

& & MAILING PRICE. 

AUX ITALIEN8. Poem by Owen Meredith. Music by G. Verdi. As arranged and 
recited by Mr. Charles Roberts, Jr. This poem is too well known to need descrip- 
tion. With this musical accompanim ent it is doubly effective $0 . 60 

THE LAST HYMN. Poem by Marianne Farningham. Music by P. Giorza. Story 
of a shipwreck near the shore. A man is seen clinging on a spar, without hope of 
rescue. The people hear him sing " Jesus, lover of my soul. " The reader that can 
sing this simple, familiar hymn will have a most powerful and pathetic piece 50 

THE SHADOW OF A SONG. Poem by Campbell Rae-Brown. Music by Edgar 
S. Place. Story oZ a girl>ho sings to her dead, blind, twin brother whom she had 
tended with marvelous affection. Her lover overhearing her sing, suspects her of 
communing with a dead love and accuses her. She is so wounded by his suspicion 
that she leaves him forever, saying as she goes, that she will sing the song again 
iust before she dies. A year afterward, the lover, who is alone and disconsolate,, 
hears the song, and realizes that she (who is unseen) is dying. Introduces a song. 
Poth the singer and the piano are invisible. This is the greatest reading of the 
year, and, with proper rendering, produces wonderful effect upon an audience 50 

PERT DARK. Music by G. M. Rosenberg. The pathetic death of a soldier 
whose last words are " It is growing very dark, mother. '' 50 

THE BENEDICTION. Poem by Francois Coppee. Music by Edgar S. Place. 
This, as is well known, is a story of the siege of Saragossa, where the troops shot 
flown a lot of monks, finally shooting an old priest at the altar who was in the act 
©f giving the benediction. Very dramatic, and one of the chief pieces in the 
repertoire of Prof. J. W. Churchill and Mr. Charles Roberts, Jr 70 

THE RED FAN. Words by Grace Ada Brown; music by Nettie Arthur 
Brown. Humorous account of how a lady, by fanning his cigar smoke back 
into his face, squelched a pompous man 60 

THE UNCLE, as recited by Henry Irving. Poem by H. G. Bell. Music composed 
by Sir Julius Benedict, expressly for Mr. Irving. Very dramatic story of two 
brothers who loved the same woman. The unsuccessful suitor m urders his brother 
by locking him in a chest. Years afterward the murderer, in a lit of remorse, tells 
the story to his nephew, and dies , 60 

THE STORY OF SOME BEIXS. Music by Edgar S. Place. Story of an artisan 
who, having cast a tuneful chime that was carried off in war, became disconsolate 
and wandered for years through foreign lands in search of his bells. At last he 
finds them, and as they play " Home, Sweet Home," he dies. Very appropriate 
for young ladies 50 

THE STATUE SCENE FROM SHAKESPEARE'S " WINTER'S 
TAIiE." Music arranged from Beethoven, by Edgar S. Kelley. A very fine 
recitation 50 

COUNTRY SUEIGHING. Poem by E. C. Stedman. Charming, semi-humorous 
description of an old-fashioned country sleigh-ride. Light and frolicsome, with 
splendid opportunity for by-play 50 

BIUSIC ON THE RAPPAHANNOCK. Poem by C. C. Somerville. Story of 
Northern and Southern armies encamped on the banks of the river, so near that 
each can hear the other's band. When one army plays a war-tune, the ether army 
responds with its war-tune, until, finally, one side plays "Home, Sweet Home," 
which so touches the other side that it joins in, and for the time being the North 
and the South are one. Appropriate for G. A. R. meetings, etc 50 

I ©REAM. Poem by Rev. D wight Williams. The happiness and beauty of the here 
after as foreshadowed in a dream. Suitable for Sunday-school and church enter- 
tainments, as well as for other occasions 50 

SJHE FUGITIVES. Poem by Shelley. Music by Robert Schumann. Story of 

runaway lovers, who are cursed by her father, and who are exposed to a storm .40 

(Sent on receipt Of price. Address the publisher, 

EDGAR S. WERNER, 108 East 16th Street, New York. 



WERNER'S 

READINGS AND RECITATIONS, 



This series furnishes material for all styles of readers 

and reciters, and for all occasions. Nothing 

is repeated, and every piece is good — 

No padding ! All the pieces either 

are original, or have been 

specially arranged for 

these books, which 

contain 

THE BEST RECITATIONAL LITERATURE. 



No. 1 .—Compiled by Sara Sigourney Rice. "English Classics." Specially suit- 
able for schools, as it contains masterpieces of English literature. 

No. a.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. w All-Round Recitations." 

No. 3.— "Original Character Sketches," by George Kyle and Mary Kyle Dal- 
las, with pieces by other authors. 

No. 4.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. " All-Round Recitations." 

No. 5.— Compiled by Sara Sigourney Rice. "American Classics." Specially suit- 
able for schools, as it contains masterpieces of American literature. 

No. 6.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. Specially suitable for Religious Occasions. 
Catholics will find nothing objectionable in it. 

No. 7.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. " All-Round Recitations." 

No. 8.— Compiled by Jean Carruthers. Part I. of " First Prize Recitation 
Book." 

No. 9.— Compiled by Jean Carruthers. Part II. of " First Prize Recitation 
Rook." 

No. 10.— Compiled by Caroline B. Le Row. " America's Patriotic Recitation 
Rook." This book supplies material for the celebration of all the national holi- 
days, and has many declamations. 

No. 11.— Compiled by Sara Sigourney Rice. " World Classics." Specially suit- 
able for schools, as it contains masterpieces of the world's literature. 

No. 12.— Compiled by Elsie M. Wilbor. " All-Round Recitations." 



Any number in paper binding sent postpaid for 35 cents; in cloth 
binding, 60 cents; $3.00 per dozen in paper; $6.00 per dozen in 
cloth. 

Udnss the Publisher, EDGAR S. WERNER, 108 East 16th St., Rew York. 









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